


Cairo

by Dryad



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: AU, Aftermath of Violence, Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, NC17, Pre-Slash, casefile, unity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:11:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4308135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Inspector Robbie Lewis must bring home the adventurer-turned-amateur Archeologist James Hathaway to face questions of...what, exactly? Why is Hathaway so obsessed? What has he done to make the Home Office so paranoid about him? Who is killing the workmen at the dig outside Cairo? </p><p>The more Lewis talks to Hathaway, the less sure he's doing the right thing. Combined with his family troubles, Lewis wonders if maybe neither one of them should go home at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cairo

**Author's Note:**

> Quoshara made me a [beautiful cover](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4308399) :D :D
> 
> Written for the Case Story Big Bang!
> 
> All the chocolate Hathaways go to Lyrica, without whom this fic would be a lot more problematic. Having said that, any and all mistakes are mine.
> 
> This story belongs in the Unity, a multi-fandom AU of mine.

~*~

Cairo was hot. Really, very hot. Made the summer time temperature in Oxford seem lovely and mild by comparison. Thank god the sun was beginning to go down. Shadows stretched over the streets, one building kissing another in the late afternoon sun. A slight breeze moved the stale air, sending dung scented smoke into Robbie's eyes. He brought out his handkerchief and mopped the back of his neck. A second later he patted the driest bit of his handkerchief he could find over his eyelids and brow. Jesus, what he wouldn't give for a cold beer. There would be one back at the hotel, he knew, but the meeting had to come first. It was why he was in here, after all.

'"But sir - !"

Bright had slammed his palm down on his desk. "Lewis, I don't want to hear it! You've been seconded to the Specialist Crimes Unit until further notice. You'll be back for Hislop's trial, otherwise I expect you to report to Scotland Yard immediately."'

Aye, and now he was on Khemet, in the city called Cairo, architecturally an ode to the original. Like its namesake it was the home of kings and queens and mummies wrapped in gauze, scaring the bejesus out of people. Nobody ever talked about having to step over the ever present donkey dung, or the call to prayer five bloody times a day, or the stink of the wharves. Or the crocodiles. Back home he had taken Lyn to the museums, of course, but that was nothing compared to seeing a living dinosaur in the flesh, eyeing you like you were a tasty snack. 

Lewis made his way through the bazaar, thronged with men and boys and the odd woman shrouded head to toe in black cloth. For her sake he hoped it was the lightest of cotton. When he turned the corner, MacDonald was already waiting, seated at one of the outside tables at the cafe they frequented. He had the pipe of a hookah to his lips, puffing out smoke fragrant with the scent of tobacco and apples and Lewis disapproved. It was hardly his place to tell the man what to do, yet surely doing that here? In this place? It was asking for trouble.

MacDonald caught sight of him, nodded a greeting. Lewis sat across from him, catching the eye of the bloke who ran the place. While he waited for MacDonald to finish, he took out the flimsy he constantly carried in the inner pocket of his jacket, read it again, just to make sure.

"Come on, man," MacDonald spoke around the mouth of the pipe. "That's not going to give you any advice."

"I wish it would," Lewis said, gratefully taking the delicate handle of the tiny cup Hassan put in front of him. Khemeti coffee was strong enough to keep a dead man upright, and sweet, if a little gritty besides.

"I don't see what the problem is."

Lewis looked out at the crowd, gathering for its entertainments. The smell of spiced food had his stomach rumbling. Different from the curries of his youth, but India was long ago and far away. He chose his words carefully, mindful of strangers over hearing. "I just never expected to leave Earth, never mind to extradite someone. Tomorrow's going to be a big day."

"You'll do fine. You've learned everything you need to know. I've arranged the transport, you'll be back in two weeks. No problem."

"I'm glad you think so," Lewis replied. He was not so sure, personally. "He's got a reputation as a hot head."

The skin at the corner of MacDonald's eyes wrinkled as he smiled. "So do you."

"I do not!" said Lewis. He slumped back in his chair as what he had said sank in.

"Start with the Olympics," suggested MacDonald, waving the mouth of the hookah in the air. "They're not far from here and you've got a good chance of finding him in the low hills."

Lewis shook his head. "I've asked around, I think Seven Springs is the better bet."

"If you insist."

An odd thing to say. Of course, MacDonald was an odd bloke. "Well, I'm going back to the hotel. I've got to get clean before tomorrow's trip."

"Yes, it wouldn't do to arrive dirty. He won't tolerate that kind of thing, or so I've heard."

Lewis had the feeling that he was being mocked for some reason or another. He would not miss MacDonald at all. Two or three weeks in the country, and then back home to Earth. That would be good, he could cool off his 'hot head', do some gardening and regain his equilibrium, assuming there was any equilibrium to be got at this point. "Right. Well, I'll be seeing you. Ta-ra."

Back at the hotel, Lewis took a tepid bath and refolded the clothing in his bag. Linen. It was all wrinkled, which was too bad. He wanted to make a good impression. Considering the questions he had to ask, good impressions were everything. He didn't want to give any inkling that he did not have the country's best interest at heart. As if twenty years in India hadn't already proved that. He forewent the pyjama top, preferring his light dressing gown and pyjama bottoms. He was hungry, though. He rang for a cold sandwich and a handful of dates, plus water and a small glass of pomegranate juice. Sitting at the desk by the balcony, every now and again he twitched the light cotton curtains away from the open double doors to allow in a bit more of the breeze, which was growing stronger. The Muezzin began the call to prayer and Lewis felt something settle within himself. Maybe it was knowledge that the new day brought new trials and tribulations instead of crackling manuscripts and crates of artifacts to be logged and repacked for shipment to museums outside of Britain. He wouldn't have minded so much if the dust hadn't made him sneeze, and if he hadn't felt as if he were stealing heritage that rightly belong to other countries and cultures. Why the hell he was even working for Specialist Crimes was beyond him. Bright had somehow finagled the assignment, of that he was convinced.

Oh, he knew the reasons they thought he would believe. Yes, the Unity would shortly be at war, again, and yes, there was the possibility that the Deutschlanders would over run Khemet, or the Partenopei might try it, because look what had happened at Hesperus. Why they would want antiquities…yeah, right. But the job came with a new pay grade, and that would make Val happy.

Okay, sure, Val's affair with Bright had been a hard thing to take, just horrible really. The worst part was that it had been Helena who had come crying to him, literally crying on his doorstep and desperate to speak to her husband, who had _looked away from her_. Of course, Lewis had known nothing of the affair at the time. He had had loud words with Bright in the hallway, who had then faced Val as she came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on the kitchen towel with the blue and white stripes. 

Bright opened the front door turning to a wide-eyed Val while Helena still cried outside. He had barked, "Tell him!", before leaving, not quite slamming the door behind himself. 

Looking at Val's reddening face, it had all come clear in an instant, leaving Lewis to play the fool.

Well. He wasn't a fool any longer, was he? Val had put up with India, even though she had hated everything about it. She had watched the ayahs as if they were going to steal away Mark and Carolyn, constantly chastised Cook about the food being too spicy, shrieked in anger at any bug that dared poke a feeler into whatever house they were staying in, never mind the snakes and the occasional lizard. So he wouldn't divorce her, not unless she broached the subject. Until then, they lived in an uneasy accord. He was grateful Lyn had married and was in her new flat with her fella. She wouldn't be on the receiving end of Val's mercurial moods and brittle, bitter laughter. 

And then there was Mark.

In the darkness, Lewis shook his head, still quite unable to believe that his lovely boy had turned into...he didn't know. Couldn't find the right words for it. He was going to have to put his foot down with the lad, and it wasn't going to go over well. How to finagle Mark out of Val's clutches, that was the question. He had to admit to himself that he wasn't used to Mark glaring at him, mouth a tight line every time they were in the same room. They had come close to exchanging blows - and Lewis was familiar enough with that from his own childhood. He wasn't about to break that vow he had made to himself concerning his own children, hell no.

Pushing himself out of the chair, he left the light off as he made his way to the bed. Putting aside his robe, he slid beneath the cool sheets and determined to focus on the job at hand, rather than his problems back in England. Up until now his journey had been fairly easy, what with the various flights and that final ferry ride from Port Khemet, MacDonald waiting for him just outside the little passport office. Granted, it had taken longer than he had expected to get stamped, but MacDonald had assured him this was the Cairoese way.

~*~

After a night in which he had slept very poorly (damned coffee!), Lewis took a breakfast of tea, a palm-sized round of thin flat bread drizzled with olive oil and zatar, plus a couple of eggs scrambled with rice, onions, and a sour herb and black pepper spice mix he had grown to love. The last time he would eat a plain breakfast in the English fashion for the next few weeks. When he was done, he put on his hat, shouldered his bag, and headed outside.

"Sahib!"

At the tug on his jacket, Lewis turned and looked down. One of the ubiquitous street children, a young boy with long, dark eyelashes, grinned and pointed across the street.

"Sahib, Amir wait on - "

The boy rattled off something in the local language that Lewis had no hint of understanding. 'MacDonald' was mentioned a couple of times, so he nodded anyway, followed the boy through the streets to the outskirts of the city. Passing through one of the massive arched gates that provided entrance and exit through the cream-colored stone defensive walls, Lewis was struck once again by how an inner glow seemed to streak through the glyphs. It had the same mysterious glow of black opals, or when nacre was highlighted by the sun. Except of course, there was no light to strike the surface of the glyphs. Sometimes he had the feeling that the light followed people through the glyphs, the way they would streak from one side of the arch to the other, slowing down or speeding up, lurking until they found something of interest. In fact there - _right there_ \- three glyphs were glowing, he could swear they were pulsing -

"SAHIB!"

"Mm? Sorry, sorry," muttered Lewis, acquiescing to another pull on his sleeve. He stumbled after the kid, shook his head to clear it of…whatever it was he had been thinking of. The kid's grin was fixed as he stared at Lewis.

"Come with me, Sahib."

Outside the gates, it was though nature was waiting, kept outside by the strength of the defensive walls alone. Again, there was nothing Lewis could put his finger on, just this constant wariness, the feeling something was lurking out of sight, around the corner, beyond the next hill.

He looked forward to leaving Cairo.

Ten minutes from the city, in a small valley surrounded by hills and sand dunes, were the caravans. Of all sorts, from hard-topped, gaily painted wheeled wagons and sand sails to camel trains and rare, expensive, gas powered cars. Lewis eyed the cars in frank disbelief. Why anyone would use those models these days - but then, Khemet really was a backwater. 

Amir was the camel master MacDonald had hired to take Lewis into the desert. He was a genial man, spoke well, was clearly used to Unitymen. He had some funny ideas about what Englishmen ate, producing out of a leather bag at his hip a small can of Spam. Lewis smiled and nodded, even though his heart sank at the very idea of the stuff. He remembered it well from the war years and never had an intention of eating it again, no matter who served it to him. 

Besides Amir there were nine camel handlers and five guards, which Lewis found a bit excessive. He had seen little evidence of crime in Cairo beyond the petty stuff. So far as he was aware, anyway. The guards had their rifles and guns, and the way they swaggered about while keeping one eye on the dunes, spoke well for their level of readiness. On the other hand, they weren't doing it for show. 

Given good weather Amir fully expected to drop Lewis off at his destination in four or five days. Lewis certainly hoped so. He didn't much fancy riding any of the camels, all of whom gave him the hairy eyeball as he followed Amir down the line. They stopped next to a camel that looked like all the others; shaggy, double humped, chewing a cud, looking less than excited at the prospect of carrying Lewis or any one else, for that matter.

"Ibil is a good camel, very peaceful, will give you no trouble, eh?"

Lewis nodded, because honestly, what else could he do? What he wouldn't give for a four-wheeled transport with air conditioning and comfortable seats. Ah well, wishes, horses, et cetera, et cetera. One of the handlers came by and helped Lewis aboard his camel, miming instructions as to steerage and making Lewis repeat (very poorly) commands even though he had no idea what he was saying. All too soon it became clear that he was the least experienced member of the group. Thankfully the camels were kept at walking speed, and he was soon lulled into a short nap.

"Catch him!"

Lewis jerked awake at the touch on his foot, instantly realized what was happening and managed to kick his foot free of the stirrup as his camel decided to sit. Lurching onto the ground in a drunken parody of control, Lewis staggered, then caught his balance and straightened. He turned to find the two women carefully looking away while the child openly gawped. "Thanks," he said, aware of his voice sounding gruff instead of grateful. "Probably would have fallen if I hadn't heard you."

"It's no problem," said the taller of the two, a willowy thing in a hooded white robe over loose white trousers and a long sleeved white blouse. She practically glowed in the deepening twilight. "I'm Sarah, this is Colleen," she said, gesturing towards the other woman, also dressed in white, the same but with the addition of a wimple covering her head.

Lewis nodded, careful not to hold out a hand. Social customs were different here, and he had to repeatedly remind himself not to behave towards the women with anything other than utmost politeness. He said, "Robbie Lewis."

"You're the one going to Seven Springs?" asked Colleen, folding her arms.

"Aye. Visiting an old friend."

"He must be very dear, seeing as you've come so far."

Chances were he wasn't going to see his _friend_ at all at this rate. Chances were said _friend_ had already heard the gossip and scarpered. 

"Will you come join us for the evening meal?"

"Gladly," he said, with real relief. Camels looked far more comfortable than they actually turned out to be. That said, he waved off their suggestion of help and saw to his own gear. The camel complained with loud groans and terrible breath while he removed his bags, stopping the instant he stepped away. The saddle he left for the handlers, who were slowly working their way down the line. He stowed his pack inside the bubble tent he had been loaned, then joined Sarah and Colleen at the newly kindled fire, one of several dotting the campground.

Colleen handed him a cup of tea fragrant with mint. Lewis nodded his thanks and took a sip, hoping like hell he could school his dislike of mint tea into acceptability. He hated the stuff, always had, always would. The fact that it was super sweet made it only slightly less disgusting. Mint sauce with a nice bit of lamb was another matter entirely. 

"We're going to Okda City," said Sarah, holding her own cup using her shirt sleeve. She winced, pulled more of the sleeve down and readjusted her grip on the cup. "I promised Leila I'd take her to see her Grandmother, y'know?"

"Your daughter?" he asked, hoping he wasn't asking anything inappropriate.

Sarah nodded. "Mm. As you can see, the journey's just long enough to make it annoying, so we only go every couple of years."

"My granddad loved it when we kids visited him," said Lewis. "Thankfully he only lived a short ride away."

Colleen touched Sarah's knee. "Be back."

Sarah smiled at the other woman, nodded. She watched Colleen head towards the cookpit along with a group of young men laughing together before turning to Lewis, leaning close. "Don't mind her. She's upset because I've dragged her along with me this time. She prefers to stay in the compound, most times."

Lewis shook his head. "No worries. I'm a stranger here myself."

"She's not used to men she doesn't know."

"I can understand that," well no, actually he didn't understand it, but it wasn't his place to say anything. Different cultures and all that. 

"I just thought I'd give you a heads up," Sarah continued. She motioned towards the sky. "I was up there, once, so I know things are very different. Have you found it difficult, being downwell?"

Lewis shook his head again. "No, not at all. I'm on Earth most of the time meself, Oxford, in England. Well, London these days."

"Is your friend from Oxford, too?"

For a moment he didn't know who she was talking about. "Ah, no. Cambridge. Another town not too far away."

"I'm sure he'll be very glad to see you."

"Something like that," answered Lewis, thinking it was entirely possible Hathaway already knew he was coming at this rate. Cairo wasn't so big that rumours of his arrival could go unnoticed, after all, hadn't that kid known to bring him to Amir without him even saying a word? Colleen was coming back, three covered plates balanced on one arm, gripping utensils, and holding three cups and a bottle with her free hand. "I think your friend has her hands full."

"Ah," said Sarah, glancing over her shoulder. Getting to her feet, she said, "She's not my friend, she's my wife."

Lewis wasn't quite sure what that was supposed to mean to him - different cultural customs, again. It's not that he forgot, exactly, so much as there was a lot to remember, and Khemet had been founded by New Islamic American Fundamentalists. All he really knew that it was different from the strain of Islam he had a passing familiarity with back home, and he had no desire to offend anyone.

"I brought you a plate too, Inspector," Colleen said, having been divested of two plates by Sarah. "Nothing fancy, nothing Unity, just good, wholesome local food."

He took the plate Sarah handed him, uncovered it. Looked to be a meat stew, couscous, dry crackers spread with some sort of shiny dark paste, ground olives, maybe. A few dates. "Smells fantastic."

They ate in silence. The stew was delicious, savory with little bursts of sweetness from the raisins strewn within. The paste on the bread was indeed of olive and a hint of lemon peel, the dates moist and more-ish. By the time Lewis had finished his plate, Sarah had opened the bottle and poured a colorless liquid into the cups Colleen had brought. Putting his plate on the ground, Lewis looked into his cup, sniffed it - "What is this?"

"Clear Skies brew. From my own garden," answered Colleen.

Sarah chuckled. "Be grateful, she only shares it with the chosen few."

The drink had an alcoholic bite, less than beer but still noticeable, with a very slightly sweet, herbal green taste. It was pleasant and refreshing and quite frankly, Lewis found it relaxing. He would definitely sleep well tonight.

While Sarah and Colleen chatted, Lewis took the opportunity to check out the other travellers. The young men, slightly less raucous with their smoke sticks, lounging closer to the fire than anyone else, were all on their way to the big dig at Echo Lake. Or so Lewis had gathered from their conversations. A bunch so loud he hadn't even had to speak to them to know their type. No doubt they were studious and well-mannered once in their studies, yet outside the school grounds, look out!

Sitting by himself, smoking tobacco and eyeing the boys with a cautious, watchful gaze, was Tariq Ghannam, a medical doctor taking up his post at Wadi Halim. The last passenger was speaking to Amir, pounding the man on the back before laughing uproariously. Nazir, a teacher also on his way to Wadi Halim.

~*~

Later that evening Lewis found himself lying flat on his back, his backside and inner thighs aching. It had been an awfully long time since he had been astride a saddle, never mind one that wasn't even on a horse. Looking up at the stars and pondering what he was going to do when he met Hathaway. He had watched all the interviews available to the public, read as many longwave transcripts as he could find, had even gone to Cambridge to question Hathaway's former professors. Their opinion was universal; James Hathaway was gifted with superior intelligence, and more than enough attitude to go with it. If he applied himself, he could have been a brilliant musician. Or mathematician. Possibly a linguist. Also translator, historian, literary critic, yet had given it all up to become a priest. Said with a mixture of bewildered scorn, as though none of them could quite fathom the idea of leaving academia for a life of spiritual contemplation.

Lewis didn't see the appeal of it, either. Yet that only made Hathaway even more interesting. To then try out for the Police, advancing to Detective Sergeant before resigning under mysterious circumstances, only to reappear as an explorer. Hathaway had found Flinders, and Wadi al Khartoum, the ruins of Dam e Sliman, the King's Barrow at Abertay. After that he had renounced being an adventurer and become a mysterious savior of antiquities? Now that was truly the head scratcher of Hathaway's career. Where had he gone? What had he done? How and why had he ended up in the desert surrounding Cairo?

The interviews hadn't been of much help, not in pinpointing anything of his reasons for his treasure hunts. Lewis knew he was tall, quite slim, blond when he allowed his hair to grow beyond the merest hint of fuzz. Hathaway favored lavender accessories with his clothing, which was often tight and as formfitting as Unity military uniform. His face was shapely and odd. When he spoke of the antiquities he found, he was passionate about the need to understand them, to preserve everything in situ, because otherwise the objects found lost all meaning. Lewis wasn't sure about that. He really did want to know why Hathaway thought things were better left where they had been found. After all, if they weren't where people could study them, what was the point? And wasn't it all to the good, being able to see what past generations had wrought?

He understood Hathaway's position, to a degree. Going through the storage units at the Museum was a lesson in boredom, most days. Racks and drawers of bits of bone, ornate basketry and shards of ceramics, cracked ceremonial pipes and holed sandals. He supposed that it could be of more interest if one had a degree in the field, but otherwise, yeah, it was just a dusty collection of things. One could only extrapolate so much over a gnawed corn cob on display rather than one in a basket buried six feet beneath the ground.

Oh, Lewis had seen enough trafficked items to know that that was really what Hathaway infrequently railed against. Val had bought quite a few curios when they lived in India; the stone heads of Buddhas, little boxes made of wood and brass, a bit of jewelry she never wore, a pretty mirror inlaid with different woods. Those were different, though, made by locals to sell to tourists for a bit of money, not stolen out of the ground for the same. He hoped.

The truth was that somehow Hathaway had turned from academia to religion to adventure to being an antiquarian. It was a mystery that Lewis found himself utterly intrigued by despite his intentions. Or maybe he was simply running away from home, like a little kid crying over spilt milk.

None of this was getting him any closer to the man himself, however. Lewis sighed and decided to go to bed. 

~*~

In the morning, Lewis was eating his breakfast (a moist brick of porridge with dates and nuts which tasted better than it had any right to, and when washed down with tea, absolutely delicious. Even so, he wouldn't miss it when he was home) when one of the camel handlers ran into the camp, his caftan and gallibeya streaked with fresh blood.

The man went directly to Amir, who was leaving his tent. Hands outstretched, he gasped, "Amir!" before tripping over nothing Lewis could see and faceplanting into the hard sand.

"Bishr! Bishr, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" Amir asked, hauling the man up by one shoulder.

Alarmed, Lewis tucked the remainder of this breakfast in this shirt pocket and trotted over to Amir and Bishr. "Can I help?"

"He's dead, sahib!, Reza's dead!" Bishr cried, clutching at Lewis' forearm with one hand. "He went to make water and didn't come back!"

"When was this?" Amir said, shaking Bishr a little bit. "And be quiet, you're scaring the women."

Lewis looked over his shoulder and sure enough, Colleen and Sarah and their child stood in a little group, staring at them with concern. "Let's go into your tent," he suggested to Amir.

"I need to know more!" growled Amir.

Lewis shook his head. "No, let's get inside where we won't be over heard," At Amir's raised hand, he said, "Amir, I'm a police officer, this is my stock and trade. I can ask better questions so you can get better answers, all right?"

Placated a little bit, after a long moment Amir nodded, and the three of them trooped into the tent. Lewis sealed it behind himself, noted the richly patterned rug on the floor, the privacy vents, the wrap-around view screen. Obviously camel trains were worth a lot of money if this was how Amir could afford to live on the road. "Bishr, why don't you sit down and tell me what you saw. Not what you suspect happened, but what you actually witnessed with your own eyes."

"I went to bed early because I'm working every leg on this trip, I'm not staying at Wadi Halim and walking back, I'm not. Bishr and Isa stayed up drinking white milk alcohol, and I went to bed early. This morning when I woke to an empty tent. Now Reza doesn't drink that often, this was a special occasion as his wife presented him with another girl. It's not that exciting, he just wanted a reason to celebrate, I think. He got...drunk... and then stumbled into the tent, I know because when he fell on top of me I woke up. I fell asleep to his snoring and grumbling about his wife and how she should have waited until he was home. No one cares about his wife having another girl, they have five and a boy already! When I woke up this morning he was gone. I thought he had just gone to make water over the dunes, and would be back when the sun rose. At the dune over but one from the camels, that's when I found him, d'y'see?" Bishr glances from Amir to Lewis and back again. 

"And the blood?" asked Lewis, ready to block Amir if he should attack Bishr.

Bishr plucked at the front of his caftan. "It's his…when I found him, he was lying on his side. I thought he had fallen, because there was nothing around him, no blood or anything. But then I rolled him over and this, this happened. His inside opened up and splashed all over me."

A likely story. "I'll need to see where this happened," Lewis announced. 

Amir continued glaring at Bishr, then nodded. "Yes, let's see where Reza died."

Together they trooped to the scene of the crime, accruing a small group of hangers-on as well. Much to Lewis' surprise, the camels were closer than he realized. Not only that, a long rocky outcrop was just around the corner from the camp and the camels. At the top of one dune it became clear that the outcrop was but the leading edge of a change in terrain.

"This way!" called Bishr, leaping from the side of the dune to the rock.

Hmm.

Lewis followed a bit more carefully. The rock was flat-topped, volcanic in origin, with ridges where one lava flow had gone over another. He could feel residual heat from the previous day's sun through the soles of his boots. Speaking of which, he would have to put his hat and scarf on as soon as they returned to camp; though the morning cool has yet to dissipate, Cairo's star was already a blazing coal in the sky. Dark basalt hid any drops of blood that might have fallen, and in any case the sun would have dried them to mere scraps by now. Assuming Bishr was telling the truth.

"Here! See?"

Lewis joined Amir and Bishr at the far edge of the escarpment. There was a short drop, maybe the height of a man, onto a sand filled gully. There lay the body, the head carefully covered with a stained cloth that Lewis presumed had once been white. The body lay on its side, blood pooled underneath and draining underneath the edge of the rock they stood upon. 

"I jumped down, like this," Bishr demonstrated by jumping into the gully. He looked up, nodding. "He was lying as he is now, but when I rolled him over, his insides burst out, so I shoved him back again."

Amir glanced at Lewis, but Lewis merely sat down, then lightly slid-hopped down to look at the body more closely. As expected, there was an overhang under which the blood had pooled. An undulating mass of shiny black beetles were busy investigating or eating or doing whatever they did, a few daring to follow the trail of blood back to the body. Lewis felt a little sick at the sight - he always did when it came to bugs and bodies. He hesitated, then crouched down and twitched aside the face cloth. 

It wasn't as bad as he had feared - no visible clutches of insect eggs at the corners of the eyes, nothing crawling out of the nostrils or mouth. Still, the sight was unpleasant. Now that he was looking at the face, Lewis remembered Reza. A young man, generally a happy character, always talking to Lewis about Ibil, at least he was pretty sure that's what Reza had been on about, given how often the camel's name came up. Now he wished he spoke the local lingo, and that Reza had been able to speak Common as well as Bishr and some of the others. Ah well, live and learn. He should have hired a some local clever clogs as a translator, instead of worrying about what was happening at home.

When Lewis next looked up, Amir was surrounded by the men who had followed them from camp, six or seven of them, all wearing hard expressions. They were men used to death, Lewis could tell by the set of their mouths, the rigidity of their shoulders, their closed fists. That was good, one of them could catch Bishr if he made a run for it. Standing up again, he moved so the sun was at his back. Unfortunately he couldn't move Bishr to the right spot without giving the game away, so he simply began. "What time did you say it was, when you discovered the body?"

"Just this morning, sahib. I came to the camp directly after."

"How do you explain how dry your clothing is? The bloodstains aren't fresh."

Bishr gawped at Lewis before glancing down at his caftan. "This isn't London, Inspector Lewis, the air here is dry - "

Lewis was struck dumb by a sudden realization. Bishr spoke Common. Had spoken Common when he came into camp only an hour before. Bishr had previously _always_ spoken in the local dialect. And now he was familiar with London weather? 

" - and there's no telling how long a cloth can be wet, not in this environment."

What was more, Bishr had called him by his name, Inspector Lewis. How did he know that? Did he overhear Amir speaking to Lewis? Had he, in fact, known before Lewis even climbed aboard Ibil? Was he making more out of this than necessary, because after all, Sarah and Colleen had not only know who he was, but where he was going. It felt like a conspiracy, yet to what end? He was hale and hearty - Lewis pushed his sudden paranoia to the back of his mind. Time to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"You said Reza's insides exploded, how do you mean?" he asked.

"That's just what happened. He wasn't even beginning to bloat, that's how quickly I arrived there."

Hmm. Exploding bodies weren't unusual, Lewis could grant Bishr that. Unfortunately for Bishr, that also meant Lewis now had a time line, and three or four hours didn't cut it. "Amir, I'll need a rope and some flesh sealer."

"Sealer?" asked Bishr nervously.

"No worries," answered Amir. He didn't even have to motion, two men reached into their caftan pockets and brought out lengths of indigo blue cloth. 

Obviously the cloths were of some meaning, the others shrank back from them, like water dropped into a glass of oil. They, too, jumped into the gully to stand on either side of Bishr. What was this, some cult of Thuggee? (and the only reason he knew that was because of the Liu murders) "Tell me why, Bishr. Why did you kill Reza?" 

Bishr immediately denied it. 

"Look, the blood on your clothing isn't fresh, and neither is the blood on the ground. There's blood spatter on your neck and chin that you didn't even realize was there. There's also blood under your fingernails, and nothing about 'exploding body parts' can cause that. Not even in the tropics. Reza's face isn't deformed, but I felt his head - it's practically pulp. Did you use a rock? Or were you just very angry?" 

This time Bishr didn't hesitate. "I did it! It was me! I've known Gul since we were tiny, and always I would tell her I would marry her when she came of age, but then her mother died, and her father, and apart from Reza her family was lost in the Great Dust! He had promised her she was free from constraint, and refused to give permission!"

"So you killed him," said Lewis.

"Yes! Yes, it was me!" cried Bishr, throwing his hands into the air. "Now that he's gone she'll be free to marry me! I'm not a wealthy man, but I've been on hajj, Allah hu akbar!"

Lewis was both disgusted and disturbed. Though not religious himself, he held those who were to a higher standard, for after all, did they not assign themselves the keepers of all that was moral and just? The reason, and Lewis used the term lightly, the reason for Bishr's actions were absurd. Leaving Reza's family without recourse to funds, never mind depriving a new child of their father - disgusting. Truly foul.

"Inspector, thank you. Your help has been invaluable," said Amir, his eyes burning with a ferver Lewis didn't like. "Parmin, Salman, help the Inspector up."

Two of men edged around Amir and sank down on their heels, reaching for Lewis and pulling him back up without hesitation. Once on top of the escarpment again, Lewis gave Bishr one last, lingering look. The man was grinning, a rictus showing his yellowing teeth, his wide, wide eyes glittering with desperation and fear.

Amir said, "Go back to the camp, Inspector. There's nothing you can do here, now."

Lewis wished he could say something, but Cairo wasn't his world, and keeping men from bloodshed wasn't his mission. Still, knowing he had condemned a man to certain death was a weight on his shoulders he knew he would never get rid of.

Parmin and Salman escorted him back to the camp, and though no one looked him directly in the eye, he could feel the pressure of their collective gaze on his back as he strode to his tent. Once inside he zipped the door closed, set the privacy vents, retrieved the necessary paraphernalia from his pack. He squirted a brief message to London HQ, then paced back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until someone scratched at the door. "Come."

Amir poked his head inside, stared at Lewis.

Arms folded, Lewis stared back.

"It's done."

"What's done?" 

Amir's eyebrows twitched. "He's dead."

Lewis clenched his fists. "Dead? You mean you executed him?"

"Of course. What else did you expect?" Amir stepped just inside the tent, held the door closed behind himself. "Did you think we were going to return to Cairo? Or bring him all the way to Wadi Halim? Waste food and water on a criminal?"

There was nothing he could say to that. Absolutely nothing. This was not his culture, he had no rights save what they extended to him as a member of a branch of Unity Law Enforcement. 

"Now, pack what you need for the day. Join the others. We'll be at Seven Springs soon enough."

~*~

Within a day it became apparent that Lewis had made a mistake. He was an outsider, one not to be trusted, and though Colleen and Sarah still spoke to him, it was only at mealtimes, their conversation stilted. The rest of the travellers were equally affected. Lewis figured it was resentment. His presence and discovery of a murderer kept them from ignoring the crime in their midst, the polite fiction that all was well to an outsider. Khemet was not the kind of world that saw a lot of Unitymen, despite its fancy spaceport. 

It was all fine. Just gave him more time to think about what he was going to say to Hathaway when they finally met. 

Thankfully the loudness of the camp returned to an almost normal level. 

So when the second murder happened, Lewis was unprepared. 

This time, one of the students had died. Once again, he had gone over a dune to 'make water', and when he had not returned within a few minutes, one of the other students discovered his body. Or, rather, body parts. 

Unlike the business with Bishr, this was an altogether more quiet affair, with Salman tugging at Lewis' sleeve while the camp was being set up for the night. Lewis followed without looking back to see who might be watching. They either were or they weren't, and he didn't fancy being given the cold shoulder again.

The student had been blown apart. Body parts were spread over the sand without regard to what they were actually supposed be attached to. Lewis was reminded of those old Rorshach tests, the ones they used for testing back in the day. Whoever had done this was diabolically clever, and very, very, very disturbed. It was upsetting to _him_ and he'd investigated more murders than he'd had hot dinners. 

He wasn't alone in feeling uneasy, either. The men who were collecting the body parts had fully covered their hands and faces with cloth, and practically threw the bigger pieces into the growing pile of flesh and bone that had been the student. Someone was shoveling bloody sand into a big pile next to the torso. Already the sand was moving, black beetle bodies emerging from the ground to dig into the pile. Ugh, Lewis turned away to start at the haze in the distance. The sunlight and clean air couldn't warm the icy core of him, and he didn't know why. He was used to murder, this wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, more or less, and yet...tt was giving him the willies. Maybe because it was clear the student hadn't been cut apart, but _torn_ limb from limb, like some archaic method of torture. And it was the middle of the day! 

Lewis walked around the perimeter of the crime scene, trying to figure out exactly what had happened. But it was impossible, there was nothing to go on except the body. Partly because the landscape had changed from sand dunes to a mix of sandy, rocky, hard soil and lava flow that was often both smooth and ankle-breaking at the same time. Lewis had slipped and fallen on multiple occasions, with cuts to his hands and bruises to his body to show for it. If there were footprints here, Lewis wasn't a good enough tracker to find them. 

"I'm sorry," Lewis finally said, looking at the pile of student. "I can't help you further. There's no evidence whatsoever that I can see apart from what you've seen yourself."

Next to Lewis, Amir shook his head. "That's not good enough, Inspector. You're the Unityman here, you've got to call for back up, something!"

"I'm afraid there's no one _to_ call. I'm here on sufferance of local law enforcement, not the other way around. You, as camel master and trader, have far more influence over what I do."

Amir grumbled under his breath, forcing Lewis to lean towards him. "What? Sorry, I didn't catch what you said."

"This isn't the first time," Amir quickly looked from side to side, stepped closer still. He practically whispered. "This isn't the first time this has happened, not to me, not to any of the men who regularly ply this route. My men are seasoned and capable, and even then they don't care to stay by that dry well. They say that at Landing, two women were killed and their bodies thrown in there. Now their vengeful spirits roam the earth, looking for a host body. But now they're too diffuse, they need bodies just to contain themselves therein. Now, you see there, that body? Blown apart from the pressure of trying to fit a spirit into a body. Understand?"

He did... sort of. It was all very ethereal and nonsensical and Lewis rather suspected one of the other students, though he had no proof or indeed, any indication that the culprit was any one of them. He might as well look in the mirror and accuse himself.

That night at dinner, which was a solemn affair, Lewis found himself on the receiving end of a gratitude line. It started when he was halfway through his meal. At first there was nothing but a few camel drivers coming by to nod and call him 'sahib', running on in their own language and bowing over their folded hands. When they were done, his fellow travel companions came too. The students first, greatly emotional, one weeping as he grabbed one of Lewis' hands in both of his own. Lewis was helpless in the face of such emotion, and didn't know what to do or say in return beyond, in Common, _Of course we'll do our best, of course_ , even though he was lying. Afterwards, he returned to his tent, engaging the privacy lock on the door as well as setting the vents, and making sure both were aglow for extra peace of mind. He hated to admit it, but he really was more than ready to go home. He wanted the familiar, even though that meant having to deal with the consequences of Val's actions. Better that, instead of out here where murderers ran amok.

After a restless, uneasy night which had half the camp awake and murmuring to themselves - Lewis knew because he had been kept awake with their chatter - at breakfast Amir called a meeting. With everyone together, the travellers, the camel drivers, even the guards (a mis-named bunch if ever Lewis had heard), Amir stood on a camp stool and with hands on his hips, began to speak.

"Our friend Ubaid has been killed. We do not know the perpetrator, nor even who had the skill to do such a thing. What we must decide is whether to continue on to Wadi Halim or return to Cairo. We're equidistant from both - "

"I've paid solid coin to go to Okda City!" cried Nazir, the teacher. 

Lewis could have sworn Nazir was going to Wadi Halim. He mentally ticked a box next to Nazir's name. Most everyone nodded in agreement. 

Amir used both hands to count, nodding as he looked from left to right. "We shall continue on, then. But first I must ask all of you, what do you know? Who could have done such a thing - "

He managed not to wince, but Lewis wished Amir had left the questioning up to him. 

"We've seen lights," offered one of the students, a dark skinned chap who had gone fashionable with a green and white checked scarf around his neck. He glanced at his companions, who murmured their assent. "In the distance, sometimes closer."

"What kind of lights?" asked Lewis, standing up to see the response of the crowd better. "Were they soft, bright, like a candle or a lamp?"

Green Scarf shrugged. "Soft, but bright. Bluish. Over the dunes, sometimes in the gullies."

"And how close did they get?"

"Close enough for me to call out, but no more. I just thought the guards were doing a really good job of guarding us."

In short, he didn't pay any further attention than that. Like most people.

There was a bark of laughter, then someone said, "A soft bluish light, just like in Jumah and Leila."

Judging by the nods and knowing looks of the crowd, it sounded like a reference to a well known story. Lewis fished his tablet and pen out of his pocket, began to write. 

Amir chuckled. "So you're saying you think it's aliens?" 

_Aliens?!_

"Come on, Nabhan, don't be ridiculous. There's no such thing as aliens, and if they're here, they're hiding really really well," scoffed the other student. 

"You've seen the gates, Jameel, you've seen the pathways at the university, you can't tell me those are human-made."

Jameel shook his head again. "Nabhan, you're conflating ghost stories with reality again. That's hardly proof of aliens. Cairo has been inhabited for over a thousand years, no doubt we've forgotten more than we've ever learned, isn't that right, Unityman?"

"Ah," Lewis blinked rapidly in a scramble to respond at the sudden attention. "No...there's never been absolute proof found -"

"See!" crowed Jameel. "Even the Unityman says it's not true. I suggest getting more sleep, Nabhan, if your dreams are entering reality."

Well, had he been given the chance, Lewis would have expounded a bit more on what had been found on the various theories. There were plenty of curiosities and oddities to be found, much of it human on the Core worlds, others...less so. "Tell me more about these gates," he suggested.

Jameel shrugged. "They've been around since forever, and while most people think they were created by Cairo's founders, others believe in more esoteric answers."

"It's not esoteric at all! You have to ask yourself, yes, all of you, what technology did the founders have to make the gates behave so?" Nabhan eagerly spoke, gesturing wildly at Jameel, Lewis, really anyone who appeared to look him in the eye. "Have any of you ever seen them outside of Cairo? What about those of you from upwell, Sarah? Tom? What about you, Unityman?"

No, no he hadn't.

"The glyphs on the stones at the University, the gates, what's in them? What makes them move so? Why do I feel like they're looking at me every time I go through them?"

"That's just your imagination," said another student, everything apart from his eyes completely hidden under a black scarf that was wound around his head and neck. He moved, caught Lewis' eye. "Nabhan is reading Literature and and the Psychology of Dreams at the University."

Nabhan grimaced and muttered something that wasn't in Common. Everyone shut up after that.

Interesting. Lewis asked, "Has anyone else seen the lights?"

There was a small, pregnant silence, before one of the camel drivers raised his hand. He spoke, and Jameel translated. "He says he sees them all the time."

"Any place or time in particular?" 

The man shook his head. Jameel said, "No."

Amir shook his head. "This isn't getting us anywhere, Inspector. The decision has been made, however. We continue to Wadi Halim."

Lewis pursed his lips, but said nothing, reminding himself that he had no jurisdiction here, murder or no. And it _was_ murder. He didn't know the hows or whys of it, but that kind of violent death was utterly unnatural, especially when it occurred in the middle of nowhere. Besides, it made him uneasy. Oh, he was assured of his own safety; he was unlikely to wander off in the middle of the night for a pee and indeed, after Reza's death Amir had rigged up a latrine of sorts that was in the camp. Having said that, he wasn't particularly in the mood to be by himself, either, even if he was in his tent. So he grabbed his reader and ear pieces and took up a spot by the main fire.

Whoever had owned the reader previously had been a very literate person. Lewis remained impressed with the selection of novels available. There were classic works and modern, even poetry and the complete works of one William Shakespeare. The Shakespeare came with an automatic annotator which Lewis turned off. He found he couldn't really get into the work if every other word had a pop-up explaining its meaning to the modern audience. Annoying as hell. He wasn't in the mood for a comedy, either. It was an obscene suggestion after what he had seen only two hours earlier. So, something bloody and dramatic - that left _Macbeth_ , _Othello_ , and _Coriolanus_. None of it was comforting, and who knew, perhaps Shakespeare would give him some insight into what had happened in the dunes.

Lewis jerked up at the soft touch on his shoulder, ripped the ear pieces out a second later. "Yes?"

"Hello - " 

It was the doctor, Tariq Ghannam, looking down at Lewis with an apologetic expression. "Oh, hello."

"Hello, Inspector. I wanted to thank you for your wise words at the meeting tonight."

"Wise words?"

"About the aliens," Ghannam smiled and frowned at the same time. He shook his head. "You must know we are only a small, out of the way world. Such fantasies as aliens and ghosts and other superstitions inhabit the minds of uneducated men without fail. I'm sure you understand that, being a member of the Unity."

"Ah, yes, of course," Lewis nodded politely. "We all of us have our foibles, Doctor."

"I know the sophistication of the Core must seem far away to you now, yes?"

"Well, each world is different in its own way. There's no telling what you'll find and where."

Ghannam's smile didn't quite reach his eyes and Lewis didn't feel like explaining further. Why some people felt the need to apologize for their countrymen, he didn't know. Well, actually, he did, but it was completely unnecessary for Ghannam to do so. Lewis didn't look down upon the Cairoese because he was from London, far from it. Was he annoyed that Aliens had been brought into a murder investigation, of course not. He had come across far stranger ideas in his career.

"I just wanted to thank you, in case no one else has, on your work with that camel driver, the first one, and of course the one from today. Terrible things, terrible."

"Much appreciated," said Lewis, wondering what he could do to make Ghannam go away. He settled on showing his reader. "Sorry, I've got some work to do," he said, hoping a moment later that Ghannam wouldn't recognize what Lewis was reading.

Ghannam immediately bowed and scraped his way backwards. "Of course, of course, important work, I'm sure."

Lewis nodded as if that were the case, popped his ear pieces back in. He was just getting into _Titus Andronicus_ when there was another tap on his shoulder. Jameel. Followed by Nabhan, and then several other folk until Lewis had had just about enough. They all wanted to express their thanks in finding Reza's murder, yet he couldn't help but feel they were also blaming him for the same. As if without his presence the mystery would remain unsolved, and the death of the guilty part would not then be on their collective conscious.

They could go fuck themselves in they thought _he_ felt guilty for doing his job. He was an officer of the Law, albeit one without jurisdiction here, and his duty was to do what was right no matter what world he was on. If he could have told them all how much it rankled to _not_ have backup, to not be able to get a forensics team out here, to know there was a murderer about somewhere and not be able to do anything about it - ? Maybe they would keep their self-satisfaction to themselves. It didn't matter how many times he encountered it, the relief people had to not be involved in any way, shape, or form. As long as it didn't effect them personally - or maybe that's why they were coming to congratulate him now, to ease their unspoken guilt at being concerned only for themselves.

At least Sarah and Colleen had a good excuse, they had a child to care for and keep safe. It was only wise of them to remain as uninvolved as possible. Speaking of whom...Lewis stood up and went to where they were sitting, halfway between the fire and their own tent. Their daughter was asleep, curled up against Colleen. Sarah motioned Lewis away from the other two.

"How is she?" he asked as they strolled towards the other side of the fire, glancing back at mother and child.

Sarah shrugged. "All right. How about yourself?"

"Me? Oh, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"You've just got a look on your face, like you're eating something sour."

If he had had pockets, Lewis would have stuck his hands inside them. Instead, he clasped them behind his back. "The thing about being a law man is that whenever you come across wrong doing, you want to fix it, solve the puzzle, and I can't do that in this case."

"Because you're on a different assignment."

"How do you - oh right. We've already been through this."

Sarah smiled. "It's not just that. You're the type of man who follows through. That's quite refreshing in this day and age."

There was no rejoinder to that, he didn't think. Besides, she was probably wrong. Probably.

"In any case, _I_ wanted to thank you for what you've done. We feel every so much safer with you here."

Lewis jumped on what she said before she had a chance to say something else. "Safer? In what way safer?"

"Ah," she said, putting her hands behind her back, too. "Should have guessed you wouldn't miss that."

For a moment she was silent, then continued. "You can probably guess from my accent that I was educated off world. My parents sent me to the Gwande School, up on the Nile. It's a fancy school near the oh, never mind, you don't want to hear about those minor details. Suffice to say that I had an interesting time of it. Enough to see what people like Ghannam don't."

At his look, she laughed. "Oh no, school was fine, the education I needed. But Ghannam and his kind are forever thinking themselves better because of they've been to the Portman Religious College, or the Victorious Center for Islamic Studies, or what have you. They want to think they're on equal footing to you Unitymen and the other galactics while sporting an inferiority complex the size of the Pyramids."

She was certainly far more articulate on the matter than Lewis.

"Anyway, I got used to a certain level of...stability, shall we say, at school. I was at the Gwande for eight, nine years. I got used to fire drills and how to close an airlock and what to do if the pressure seals blew, that sort of thing. Coming downwell was strangely terrifying. I won't say I'd forgotten what weather was like, but it was the unpredictability of it. I was used to knowing virtually everyone I saw, and strangers were welcomed with banners and speeches. Now I've been on Khemet for almost twenty years without returning to the Nile, I have a spouse and a daughter with another one on the way - "

"Congratulations!" Lewis said after a surprised pause. "Another girl?"

"Maybe," Sarah looked very pleased with herself. "We didn't think it had taken, so it's been a shocking development. Unlike what happened yesterday and today. Can you understand why I feel safer with you here?"

Not particularly, but it was nice to know he was appreciated in a way that was...normal. Or at least less obsequious. He stopped walking, turned toward her. "You know I'll do everything I can to protect the three of you."

Her cheeks dimpled when she smiled. "Exactly my point. If anything should happen to me before you go to Seven Springs, will you make sure Colleen and Leila get to Okda City? Make her arrange wheeled transport next time too?"

"Absolutely," he said. They had circled the fire twice now, and Lewis aimed them at her companions. "If you like, I'm happy to set screamers around your tent."

"That won't be necessary, thank you. It's enough to know you're out here."

Lewis gave a non-committal 'hmmm' in return, then saw them settled in their tent before returning to his own. There was a lot to think about, and planning ahead just might be in the offing.

~*~

On the fourth day from Reza and Bishr's deaths, and long past when Lewis thought he would arrive at Seven Springs, Lewis' ruminations ended when Amir approached him after breakfast. Pulling Lewis aside, he gestured toward the endless golden dunes in front of them and said, "Sahib, this is the road to Seven Springs. Adem will take you there after breakfast."

Once on Ibil, following Adem towards Hathaway, Lewis refused to look back at the caravan. He had said his goodbye's to those who counted. 

The 'road' was sand. Golden sand as far as the eye could see. Large dunes, small dunes, the same color without relief for weary eyes. The wind was incessant and all he could smell was Ibil's musky fur. He was grateful his sweat was whipped away by the dry air before it had a chance to linger and stink up the place.

They did not stop for lunch. Instead, Adem rode back and handed Lewis a packet of food and a squeeze of water to accompany it. When he was done eating, he put music on the reader and dozed to Ibil's swaying steps. 

Dusk was falling swiftly as it did every night in the desert, and Lewis was on the verge of asking Adem when they were going to stop for night because lord, his arse. They rounded a large dune and spread before them were tents, softly aglow from the lights inside. They continued on, only the soft susurrus of wind-blown sand the only sound besides the low grumbling of the other camel. Ibil continued being her absolute, ordinary self, though she must have scented water or grain, as she shuffled into a slow, bone-shaking trot. Lewis hung on for dear life, clinging to the high wooden pommel of his saddle as if the future of his marriage depended on it. Which was perhaps the wrong metaphor to use.

Somewhere ahead of them, another camel called out, then a horse whinnied, and men erupted out of the tents. Adem shouted something in the local tongue and someone called back. 

Ibil slowed and stopped as Adem's camel did the same. More chatter that Lewis didn't understand, which was fine, more than fine. All he really needed to do was get off the goddamned camel. 

Adem's camel knelt down, so of course Ibil followed suit. Lewis was well practiced now and shifted his weight accordingly until Ibil was fully settled. Even so, his hips and thighs were sore from the day's ride. He circled his feet to get the blood flowing and the stiffness out of his ankles, then slung one leg up and over the pommel, then, thank the stars above, he was on solid ground. He straightened his clothing so that it fell properly, loose and full, before glancing around at the men who surrounded them.

Narrow foreign faces peeked under white turbans and beyond white scarves that covered their wearers from chin to forehead. Lewis felt a little exposed, as usual, but reminded himself that his reddened and chapped skin was from a lack of moisturizer and rough desert sand, nothing else. 

More men gathered around them, mostly silent, a few asking Adem questions. Adem was relaxed, though, which made Lewis feel a little better. Then he realized though his heart was pounding, he was a bit cold, because night had fallen completely and the heat of the day was leaching back into the atmosphere and he was actually going to meet Hathaway, the Explorer, in only a few moments. He had come to realize he was obsessed with Hathaway, a convenient foil for coping with Val's infidelity and Bright's immense, unforgivable betrayal. He still wasn't sure what he was going to do about it.

In the distance anachronistic lit torches started towards the crowd, yellow flames snapping in the now gusting breeze, a scene from _Aida_ or Up Helly Aa. Lewis had to calm himself by breathing deep and slow. He couldn't see who was carrying them, but soon enough the crowd fell away, opening a path like Moses and the Red Sea, the person in the lead coming closer, closer, and closer, until Lewis was staring the torch bearer straight in the face. Hathaway appeared from the darkness like some golden god. 

All the interviews he had watched, the pictures he had seen, none of it prepared Lewis for seeing Hathaway in the flesh. He was tall, his eyes hazel or blue, Lewis couldn't tell in the warm light. He dressed like an Englishman in a hot country, while linen shirt, khaki trousers tucked into leather boots. Cropped blond hair bleached nearly white from the sun, sharp cheekbones, skin far more tanned than Lewis would have guessed was possible and yes, the voice, the voice, that _voice_.

"I said, what are you doing out here?"

"Name's Lewis, Detective Inspector Robbie Lewis, and I'm here to take you back home."

Hathaway startled, jerked back a bit. After a moment of staring at Lewis, he huffed a laugh. "Home? England?"

"London."

"London?" Hathaway's shoulders jerked with what might have been a laugh. "You've got to be kidding me."

Lewis shook his head. "We never kid."

"I'm not going," answered Hathaway abruptly. His eyes narrowed. "Khemet's not under Unity jurisdiction."

Lewis lifted an eyebrow, checked his watch. "You've been out here too long. Khemet signed an extradition notice with Earth a month ago, Standard. Just for you."

The shadows cast by the torch moved like crazed ghosts across Hathaway's face in the wind. "How? You're lying."

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Hathaway. Or should I call you Professor?"

That broke the spell Hathaway was under, for he looked askance at Lewis before turning away and heading back into the camp. "You can stay here tonight, but I want you gone in the morning. I can't have this kind of interference in my work."

Now just wait a minute - after a frozen moment of hesitation, Lewis started after him. "Professor Hathaway! Professor, you're needed back in London. Lord Kantor asked for you specifically. He wouldn't have sent me all the way if it weren't important."

Hathaway whipped back towards Lewis. "Lord Kantor? Milo Kantor? What did he tell you?"

Lewis shrugged, surprised by the vehemence in the other man's voice. "Nothing specific. No, no, that's not true. He said to tell you _supplicium_. He said you'd understand what it meant."

Hathaway nodded, his mouth thinning into one hard line. "Yes…I understand. Well. It seems I will be returning with you after all."

"Oh," Lewis frowned a little at the ease of Hathaway's agreement, and the bitterness in his tone. "Good, that's good."

"You would think so."

Clearly there was more to it than Lewis had been told. Okay, sure, he had thought the assignment was odd to begin with, but he had needed to get away and it had been easier to follow orders than make the tougher choice and question authority. When was he ever going to learn that the easiest options never worked in his favor? He stared at Hathaway's retreating figure, unbelieving at his own stupidity. Yes, Lewis, take the damned assignment, leave Val and Bright to their own devices without anyone to oversee besides Mark and Lyn. Good _Christ_ what the hell had he been thinking?

"Sahib, this way!" called Adem as he passed Lewis. 

Lewis realized he was being left behind as the crowd dispersed back into their tents. He hurried after Adem, who gestured towards an unlit tent on the far side of the fire. Speaking of the fire - Lewis eyed it as he went past - yes, dung and…coal? Something dark and chunky and smelly, at any rate.

"There was an accident yesterday, and this tent is no longer occupied," said Adem, unsealing the opening and ducking inside. 

"What kind of accident?" 

"A guard was bitten by a Death's Head horned beetle. Nothing to worry about," called Adem.

"Right. Nothing to worry about, he says," Lewis poked his head inside more slowly, blinking at a cascade of sparks highlighting Adem's somber face. A moment later there was a naked flame and soon a lit candle was hidden by a smoky glass shade. "Aren't there any proper lights?"

"They don't work at Seven Springs."

Interesting. Lewis made a mental note to fire up the reader as soon as he was alone. And speaking of which, the tent was a large standard issue, big enough for four people, with enough height for Lewis to stand straight and still have head room. Looking around, he saw four pallets, only one of which had a sleeping roll tucked at one end. The others were empty, with not even a sheet to cover them. Next to the roll was a leather bag and a pair of worn sandals.

"Are we the only ones staying in here?" he asked, scratching his chin.

Adem nodded. "Yes, sahib. When a man dies in the desert, his body is given to the sand, and usually his belongings as well."

Lewis looked at Adem, whose easy smile belied the way his gaze flicked about. "So what's the problem?"

"Superstition," said Adem, backing towards the tent's entrance. "Desert tribes, sahib. Nothing to worry about. I'll get your things."

 _Your_ things, noted Lewis wryly. No matter, he wasn't a tribesman, living in a dead man's tent didn't affect him one little bit. Anyway, a tent this size would make a nice change from the bubble tent he had been sleeping in since leaving Cairo. So, he was here. He was here and he was hungry. With that thought in mind he left to see if there was a meal being served.

To his great relief, dinner was a stew made of some deliciously tender meat and gravy over couscous, with warming spices. Served with flatbread, a crumbly cheese dotted with tiny, addictively sour black seeds that crunched between his teeth. There was hot, sweet tea and plain water and dried fruit for afters. It went some ways to making up for the cool reception. Sitting by the fire, he looked over the small company. A few were like himself, pale-skinned, not at ease in the environment. City folk, maybe, here because of the glamorous explorer? The rest of the company spanned the usual assortment of skin color, though they leaned towards the darker end of the spectrum. They spoke to one another in the local language, so obviously not foreigners. Or at least not foreigners like he was. The atmosphere was quiet, so it appeared that yesterday's accident was genuine. He had done his research on Khemet's wildlife, had seen pictures of Cairo's biggest dangers; the greater and lesser Death's Head horned beetle, the camel 'spiders' which he hoped to all that was holy wouldn't turn up anywhere around Ibil or himself, the Golden Biter, which was a horrific cross between centipede and a rodent. At least they weren't prone to showing up in tents. Or so said the guidebooks.

Speaking of golden creatures, there was Hathaway, collecting his dinner while Lewis sat and watched. He was dressed in a white jumper, khaki trousers, knee-high leather boots the color of aged cognac. Much to Lewis' surprise, once Hathaway had gotten his food, he came over to sit next to Lewis. Lewis waited for Hathaway to speak first.

Hathaway took a bite of stew, another of bread, glanced at him, then stared at the fire. He swallowed, said, "I'll have to finish up here before we go. Winter's coming on, the season's almost over."

"How long will that take?" 

"Could be a week or so. We have to make sure that everything that is staying is well covered, set the security system, document everything. At the same time we'll have to secure all the finds we're removing, and bring them back to Cairo."

"Good thing I'm not in a hurry, then," said Lewis with a firm nod. He sipped his rapidly cooling tea. "Will you be sorry to leave?"

Hathaway shrugged. "I'll be back in late spring. I'm happy as long as the site's not disturbed."

"I imagine that must happen frequently out here, with no one to keep watch."

"Oh," Hathaway shook his head. "Those who keep the watch are the prime suspects. Better to cover it all with sand and let everyone think there's nothing of value to be had."

"And is there?" asked Lewis. At Hathaway's frown, he continued, motioning with his cup towards the great beyond, as if he knew in which direction lay the dig. "Anything of value?"

Hathaway eyed him for a long moment. "Maybe. Depends on what you consider valuable."

Now it was Lewis' turn to shrug. "Gold, diamonds, I don't know, the usual."

"The most valuable item I could find would be a Rosetta stone. But until that happens, I'm stuck struggling along with everyone else."

"So you're saying you won't know until you can get it back to the Cairo museum."

"Something like that."

"Or you already know, but you don't want the news getting out," said Lewis in a much quieter voice.

Hathaway smiled ever so slightly, the merest curl of the corners of his mouth. He wiped his plate clean with the last bit of his bread, popped it in his mouth. After he chewed, he asked, "So what's your involvement in this? Most coppers don't come out here for people like me."

"You're my assignment, nothing more, nothing less."

"Really," drawled Hathaway.

Lewis instantly knew there was no way he was going to be able to get away with not answering questions. Switching tactics entirely, he tried to draw Hathaway out softly softly. "I'm married, two kids, been in the police since I was sixteen. You?"

"Single, never married, failed at everything I've turned my hand to apart from this."

All right then, glove thrown. "Marriage isn't all it's cracked up to be, if that helps."

"Yes, your wife must not be too pleased that you're out here."

You don't know the half of it, mate. Lewis drank the rest of his tea. "I'll need to see the dig tomorrow."

"Of course. There's not much to see. Most every thing's been packed up."

"Tomorrow, then," said Lewis, getting to his feet. "Good night."

Back in his tent, Lewis performed his usual nightly ablutions, took some notes, and went to bed. So. Hathaway. Lewis took a deep breath, released it all at once. Less intimidating that he had previously thought. Funny, in a dry kind of way. Peppered his speech with Latin and Shakespeare and seemed completely and utterly unaware of how charming he was. Totally uninspired by Lewis, however. Ah well, that was the way of it. Still, he wished he'd been able to make a good impression, rather than apparently being an inarticulate idiot. He was unhappily reminded of his early days with Morse, before they figured one another out.

~*~

Heart pounding, Lewis sat up. The rush of blood was so loud in his ears, he had to open his mouth in order to hear better. Wide-eyed, he turned his head from side to side, listening hard. He was alone in the tent - there was no whistle of wind against the tent poles - no whisper of sand against the fabric - what? Why was he awake?

The answer came in the form of a piercing shriek, one that set his hindbrain into a panic because _Jesus Christ something was out there!_

Scrambling out of his sleeping bag, he searched through his kit for the weapon MacDonald had slipped him upon arrival in Cairo. At the time he'd thought the man was mad, but now he was grateful for its presence. He didn't bother with trousers or another shirt, simply slipped out of the tent in his longjohns and long tailed, fine wool shirt. Because this was Cairo, of course it was all white. Which meant he was going to stand out in the darkness. Along with everyone else, apparently, as he glanced left and right.

There was another scream, this one more readily human. The sound of someone in agony. Men were gathering near the fire, and Lewis saw Hathaway grab a torch and point in several directions. Lewis couldn't hear what he was saying, but men split off in small groups, each carrying a couple of torches. He had just opened his mouth to speak when Hathaway caught sight of him.

"Inspector! Come with me!" he shouted, before turning and jogging into the night.

Lewis cursed under his breath, momentarily wished he had put on shoes, then put it to the back of his mind. The sand was gritty and cold underneath his bare feet, and he hoped like hell he didn't step on something problematic and poisonous. Maybe he would warm up quickly, since it appeared that they were climbing a dune. He didn't try to watch where he was going, merely followed Hathaway and his two workers to the top of the dune, huffing and puffing. Oddly, there was no wind at the top of the dune, either. Lewis had grown accustomed to there being wind at all times, little eddies to swirl sand and dust, enough to irritate the eyes and throat if nothing else.

Standing next to Hathaway and trying to catch his breath, flanked on either side by the workers, Lewis stared down at the sight before him. Between the dunes was a narrow little gully of ground. Real ground, not sand, with a little shrubbery greenery growing in it, and the scent of water heavy in the air. Seven square bollards emitted a soft white light, and the more Lewis looked at them, the more he could have sworn something moved within. Blinking, he turned away until the residual spots faded from his eyesight.

"Takes your breath away, doesn't it? Who could have put these here? Why? How?" murmured Hathaway. He glanced at Lewis as if seeking an answer, did a double take. "The new fashion?"

"Aye," Lewis resolutely kept his gaze away from Hathaway and the Seven, scanned the dune opposite. After a second he nudged Hathaway's arm. "Up there, look."

On the dune opposite there was a body and a bloody trail. Or, rather, there was a body part, barely visible in the light of their flaming torches. The only reason Lewis could tell that it was blood was because it was still glossy. A murder so fresh the blood hadn't even had time to congeal. And there, was that a leg, maybe, some 15 metres up the dune? A little further a bundle of black fabric, the presumably the other leg and the hips. That was all. No torso, no head.

Hathaway breathed out, took a few steps. "That's Hassan. Shit."

"How can you tell?"

"He's the only one that wears black."

Mindful of the danger, Lewis started down the dune after Hathaway. He kept his eyes on the top of the dune on the other side, hyper alert to any to any sudden movement. In fact - he grabbed the arm of the worker next to him. "You stay here, warn us if anything, anything at all shows up that's not one of us, right?"

The man nodded, muttered something to his companion, who stopped his own descent to clamber back up to the ridge. 

A moment later he grabbed Hathaway's forearm too. "Hathaway, we have to secure the scene before we go down there."

"Oh, right," Hathaway said, staring at Lewis as if he had no idea who Lewis was. 

Which was entirely possible. Shock did funny things to people. Lewis frowned. Not good to have a civilian mixed up in whatever this was. Which reminded him - "This has happened before, recently, right? Someone else was murdered?"

"Suleiman. We'd had, there, there was a disturbance at the site one morning, some tools had been removed, an artifact was gone. Just a vase, a painted vase. We've seen them here before, sent them on to the museum on Umm Mahmut street. They're old, very old. Older than any human presence. Shouldn't be here. For a long time I thought that maybe it was just coincidence, that someone had planted the vase while I was away last winter, but only this morning I received word that they're genuine," Hathaway shook his head, leaned close to Lewis, whispered, "You can't speak of this to anyone, Inspector Lewis. The repercussions - there are things here that could change everything. _Everything!"_

"All right, man," Lewis answered, not bothering to whisper. He didn't want anyone suspecting anything about him or Hathaway, the possibility of further bloodshed from nervous men was much higher than death from whoever was out there, randomly or even not so randomly killing people. _Especially_ given that Hathaway was unaware of the other three murders. So Malik made four, not including Bishr. "Right now we need to make sure no one is here but us. And we need to find whoever left that trail of blood."

"Ziad. Ziad was on watch tonight."

"You usually only have one man on?"

"Yes," said Hathaway, frowning again. "No, no, I told him to pick someone out of the group. Talib - "

Lewis couldn't follow what Hathaway said, as he spoke in the local language, but Talib's firm shake of the head was all the answer he needed. Okay, it was time for the talk to stop. And there was no way he was leaving the object of his mission alone, not until he got him back to London. "Hathaway, you come with me. Talib and the other fellow can stay here and make sure we don't get any nasty surprises."

He was a bit surprised that Hathaway acquiesced so easily, and glad of it as well. He would do what he had to do to make sure the man stayed alive, by any means necessary. With that in mind, he started down the dune again, Hathaway following. He gave the springs a cursory glance at the bottom, before starting up the other side. He didn't rush, but neither did he go slowly. The dark trail of blood was beginning to dry now, and already he could see insects investigating their prize. Protein and liquid, both hard to come by in the desert, he supposed. Take it wherever you could get it, no doubt. 

Satisfied they weren't going to go anywhere else, Lewis continued towards the springs. As he drew closer, he began to see indentations in the dirt. Horizontal and vertical, and no, they weren't indentations at all, but another material entirely. He slowed, trying to see what else might be on the ground.

"The marks you see are paving stones so finely pointed you can't get the blade of a knife between them, " said Hathaway. "There's a pattern, a walkable labyrinth from the first to the last. You can see it in the day, and feel it by night if you go on hands and knees."

As he walked across the brick he could feel the rough pattern against the soles of his feet. For a second he wished he could stop and walk it…and then it occurred to him that he was in the middle of a murder investigation. Oh, Lewis didn't like that. He didn't get distracted on cases, not ever. Not even by Val and the children. If he felt this way merely by stepping on the labyrinth with bare feet, what could have happened to Hathaway on his hands and knees? 

They continued up, Lewis' thighs burning from the effort, his toes absolutely freezing. What he found odd was that given the amount of blood, the splashes and sprays of it, there should have been more body parts. There was too much blood for one person, and there were no indentations in the sand where someone stepped. No sign of someone struggling to carry a heavy weight over their shoulder, no side winding drag marks. Not a shred of clothing, at least not in the available light. 

The further they went up the dune, the more disturbing it became. Lewis had never seen anything like it before. It made him nervous. Holding Hathaway back with one arm outstretched, Lewis reached the top of the dune, swung his torch to and fro, grimaced. 

_Jesus!_

Well, he'd found Ziad.

"Inspector?"

"Is it him?" asked Hathaway, breathlessly coming up to where Lewis stood. His torch added to the scene, throwing the scattered limbs into relief. 

A crumpled body lay a few metres down the dune. It was whole, so Hassan's head and torso remained missing. Assuming Hassan's head was still attached to his torso. "Should the men see this?"

"Most of them have seen and done far worse," said Hathaway, his face gone tight and still. "Tribal wars still abound on Cairo."

"Ah."

Hathaway shouted over his shoulder at Talib, then started towards the body. "I've told him to get the sheets. The custom is to wrap each part in a a sheet, say prayers on the location, burn incense or tobacco if they have it. Sends the soul on, apparently."

"Right," Lewis muttered, wondering a little at Hathaway's nonchalance. He shivered, hard, abruptly aware of being in the desert at night with no shoes or jacket, that he could barely feel his feet, that the wind had finally picked up. "Come back to the camp with me. I don't want you out here by yourself and I need to find whoever last saw Hassan and Ziad."

Catching movement from the corner of his eye, Lewis shielded Hathaway from the potential threat. Happily for his blood pressure, it was only Talib and more men. They waited while Ziad was bound in white cloth quickly smeared with dark matter. It happened behind them, too, for a couple of men brought the wrapped parts of Hassan that remained to Ziad. The men worked in calm silence, a world away from Amir's shrieking, complaining crew. He supposed it made sense. If one was in a war zone and wanted to bring home the brave in the middle of a battlefield, one didn't make a fuss over the human body, no matter in how many pieces it might be in. He said, "Come on, they've got it well in hand," only realizing what the words were afterwards. He pretended not to notice Hathaway's wide eyed glance, because laughing at murder was never funny. Not the way civilians took it. Which reminded him that Hathaway wasn't quite a civilian, was he? "You've had some police training?"

"Yeah, yes," said Hathaway, trudging next to Lewis, still frowning. "I failed the sergeant's exam, and then something came up."

The walk back to camp was quicker, if more fraught with tension. Now that Lewis knew what he was up against, he wanted Hathaway back in Cairo all the sooner. Problem was, he was the only law enforcement officer around as far as he knew, which left a murder and himself the only person to investigate it.

_Shite._

"I want the site closed down immediately," he said. "You can do everything you need to do in the morning. But I want everyone out of there by sundown. Do you have any taggers or lights?"

"Taggers, yes, but lights don't work around here," Hathaway stopped. "You intend to find the killer?"

Lewis turned around to keep facing Hathaway, walking backwards. "Yes, it's my job."

"I don't want anyone to know what happened here," said Hathaway, rushing to Lewis' side. They both spun, so now Hathaway was walking backwards while Lewis faced the camp. "They're already suspicious enough. If the people from Wadi Halim or Cairo hear, they'll come and destroy the site, breaking apart anything of value."

"You said there wasn't anything of value here. No gold, no coins - "

"Knowledge, Inspector! What we lack can only be found in undisturbed sites like this! Why Seven Springs? Is it religious? Merely a location with water? A method of mathematics or astrology? How will we ever know if they are destroyed by petty, unimaginative, spectacularly uninteresting people?"

"That's going a little far, methinks," answered Lewis promptly. "Besides, if they're all so uninteresting, what are you doing out here? What have you done for the past four years, if not investigate those very same people?"

Hathaway refused to answer, making Lewis sure in what he had said. 

Upon rounding the edge of the dune, Lewis threw his arm up to keep Hathaway from going any further. He swept the scene before him from right to left, taking it all in and trying to catch any stray sound or movement that didn't fit.

There was nothing.

The breeze had returned, setting the torches a-flicker.

"What the _fuck?_ " breathed Hathaway, equally dumbfounded.

"Right," said Lewis, cautiously stepping forward into the mess. "Looks like everyone's gotten wind of what happened out there and skedaddled. You see anything missing?"

"Y'mean, besides the people?"

Lewis shook his head. In their absence the camp had been completely and utterly wrecked. Debris from equipment had been broken apart for its valuables littered the sand. Hathaway's tent had been slashed to ribbons while Lewis' own had been left intact. He poked his head inside, opening the flap wide so he could see the damage by torchlight. Oddly, it appeared nothing had been taken. In fact, he wasn't even sure anything had been touched. Strange. 

"They took it all! Goddamnit!"

At Hathaway's shout, Lewis hastened to his side. Next to Hathaway's tent, where crates and boxes had been stacked, now there remained only a pile of wood and packing material. Broken shards of pottery and frayed cloth wrappings with bits of bone sticking out, woven baskets torn asunder. 

Hathaway turned towards Lewis, his eyes suspiciously bright. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick. "They've done me in, Inspector. This was going to be my ticket to more money, not only for myself and my endeavours here, but for future digs as well. Without the artifacts, I have nothing, _nothing!_ "

Lewis frowned, patted Hathaway on the back. "You've still got your health, man, which is more than Hassan and Ziad have."

Hathaway stared at him a moment longer. "You don't understand - "

"You're right," said Lewis, nodding. "Definitely don't have a clue about archeology and geography and all that noise. What I do know is that you've been abandoned by the people you hired, for one reason or another. They've ransacked the place for everything they could possibly get to sell, and food and water besides. I'll bet they've taken the camels, too. "

"Shit!" Hathaway took off at a run.

"Hathaway!" shouted Lewis, racing after him. With his long legs Hathaway easily outpaced him, only the torch the clue as to where he had gone. Once the torch disappeared, Lewis stopped, breathing heavily. Now he was left all alone and he didn't like it, not one bit. 

So.

If Hathaway returned, _when_ Hathaway returned, they would go back and gather supplies. They would spend the night in the tent Lewis had been assigned, and in the morning they would hike out to either Cairo or Wadi Halim. They were going to have to tough it out. And that meant setting a watch. Or watch and watch, perhaps, if…no, they should double check the taggers and screamers before they decided to stay up all night.

Just as he was about to call for Hathaway, murdering lurkers be damned, the man himself reappeared, striding rapidly towards Lewis

"They're gone!" he said angrily. "All of them, not a single camel left!"

"Damn!" said Lewis, relieved that Hathaway was all right. That he had come back for Lewis. With a passing though to Ibil's wellbeing, he rubbed one hand over his mouth. "I want you to check how much water we have, then grab your gear and come into my tent. We can tell each other fairy stories and wait for the sun to rise."

They checked over everything. It took time, and eventually Lewis realized that actually they had been left scant food and water, enough to last for a couple of days on quarter rations. If the two of them were very careful, they could stay here until help came. Which reminded him - where in the blazes was Hathaway? "Professor?" 

Lewis tossed another breakfast brick into the pile at his feet, then left his tent. It had gotten colder in the intervening hours, and he was glad he had won his debate with himself, over bringing a pair of wool socks. Base common sense had won out over fears of weight limits and exactly how much a person could pack into a single bag. Now, with feet toasty warm in socks and boots, Lewis followed the trail of picked over items until he reached Hathaway, who was perched on a camp stool by the fire, which smoked as if it had a grudge against the two of them. Hathaway didn't bother to look up at him. Lewis said, "We can wait it out until help comes."

"Help?" Hathaway glanced at him, shook his head. "There's no help coming. Haven't you noticed that Talib and the rest haven't returned yet?"

Actually, he hadn't.

"They're not going to, either. The funny thing about archeology and exploration, the locals are always filled with superstition and legends of malfeasance. Doesn't matter if you're on Earth or out on the Rim. Not to put too fine a point on it, but it's up to us to get out of here."

Lewis looked at the dunes surrounding them, fought to contain a hard shiver. He was _not_ going to die here. He refused to believe it. "And you know how to do that?"

Hathaway snorted, tossed whatever he had been fiddling with into the fire. He stood up, passed Lewis. "Because I always have a backup plan."

"Which means what?" Lewis scrambled after him with no little exasperation. "You've got some kind of miracle water reclamation device in your back pocket?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

Open-mouthed with surprise, Lewis followed Hathaway to his torn tent. He watched Hathaway dig through the remains, throwing aside this and that. Finally he was done, but Lewis recognized nothing that looked like a water reclamation unit, big or small. Before he had a chance to comment, Hathaway flashed him a look. Lewis folded his arms and settled in to wait.

Stepping out of the mess, Hathaway began to stack a pile of what looked like small cardboard boxes together. "Want to be of help?"

Lewis did whatever Hathaway said, and at the end of it, he found himself staring at a very small water reclamation unit comprised of the sides of small boxes. Oh, tricky Hathaway. Lewis admired the set up. Hathaway had brought in what he needed under the guise of packing material. The boxes could contain small pieces of bone or pottery, and if you knew how to take them apart and put them back together again, you could have devices of varying means. Lewis was impressed. "Real spy stuff, this."

"I just like to be prepared for all eventualities."

"Does that mean we can eat it if we need to?"

"Well," Hathaway reached into the jumble of tent at his feet and pulled out a paper notebook. He held it up and fanned it open, the pages creamy white-yellow in the torchlight. "Each page is a meal. And I mean that in the most high calorie, high fat, nutrient dense way possible."

"How do you keep from snacking on them when you're peckish?"

For his answer, Hathaway ripped off a sheet and offered it to Lewis. He took a nibble, couldn't help the face he made at the taste. It was dry, yet greasy in his mouth, tongue-curlingly umami with mineral salts, and was reminiscent of...he couldn't put his finger on it. Nothing horribly unpleasant, just not anything a person would want to eat if they had any other option whatsoever.

"We'll eat one a day along with the other foodstuffs. I had them made myself, you won't find it in any general store."

"For which we are all grateful," muttered Lewis under his breath. He folded the sheet and put it in his trouser pocket. "So I take it you also have a plan for getting us out of here as well, then."

Hathaway grimaced. "Unfortunately, no. I was entirely too reliant on Hassan and the others. The dunes change too often from year to year for me to have made a decent map. I can try and find Cairo through dead reckoning, that's the best I can do.""

"Better than staying here," replied Lewis gruffly. What a goddamned mess. His mission had turned into a rescue, except the two of them had rescued themselves. "How long do you think it'll take?"

With a shrug, Hathaway began to walk towards Lewis' tent, carrying the mixing-bowl sized unit in both hands, food notebook tucked under one arm. "Cairo's not far from here, as the crow flies, and by fast camel, if the weather's good perhaps a week, Standard. On foot...I guess we're about to find out."

Lewis ushered Hathaway into his tent. He set the screamers he had carried in his pack, put a tagger at each corner. Despite what everyone said about electronics here at Seven Springs, he wasn't convinced. Best to assume they worked, and if they didn't, well, they didn't. But if they did, then no one was going to get in here without it being recorded, period. If the worst happened and the two of them didn't make it out alive, law enforcement would at least have a record of what had happened. That done, he also poured a tot of brandy from the flask he never left behind these days, handed it to Hathaway. "Get that down your neck, and then I want answers."

Hathaway sat heavily onto one of the camp stools at the portable desk, gestured vaguely with one hand. "Those won't help, y'know."

"Let me guess, electronics don't work around here. Anyway, I thought it was just the lights?"

"I've not had success with anything electronic. Readers, recorders, the lot," Hathaway looked down at the cap of the flask, shrugged. "That's they way of it, Inspector.""

"Call me Robbie, or Lewis," said Lewis, tired and exasperated with this whole assignment. That he had agreed to do, dammit. 

Hathaway tossed the brandy back in one go, handed the cap back to Lewis. He coughed, eyes streaming, cheeks pinking. "Christ," he gasped. "'S enough to strip paint."

"Never said it was _good_ brandy," said Lewis, pulling the other stool close to Hathaway rather than sit across the table from him. He found it a good way to intimidate a suspect while also providing intimacy to a victim. Clearly Hathaway was neither…and yet. "Start from the beginning."

"When a man loves a woman very much - "

Lewis shot Hathaway a look. The man had the decency to almost look ashamed, but that was rapidly replaced by the sparkle in his eye and oh, Lewis finally got it. Hathaway was a Character. Suddenly all of the interviews made sense. Everything Lewis had read and seen, all the people he had spoken to, now he understood their confusion over Hathaway's choices. Of course he barely knew Hathaway, and yet - Lewis felt he knew him in his very bones.

"Sorry," Hathaway said, obviously not sorry at all.

"You mentioned a disappearance, possibly another murder - was it similar?"

Hathaway leaned on the table, steepling his fingers as he thought. "Yes…and no. Suleiman was also on guard duty. I don't know why people assume he was murdered, we never found a body. A bit of blood, but hardly anything life-threatening."

Hmm. Interesting. "And you've never seen him again?"

"No. Assumed he returned to Cairo."

"Without his belongings?"

Hathaway interlaced his fingers, leaned his elbows on the table. "His work chit was gone as well. He can get paid at HQ as easily as he could have done here. We can find out as soon as we get back to Cairo, if you want."

"Oh, I want," answered Lewis, liking how Hathaway assumed they were going to survive. He poured more brandy, offered it to Hathaway, who held up one hand and shook his head. "What do you think happened to Hassan?"

Hathaway shook his head again. "Damned if I know."

"Has this ever happened before?"

"Here?"

"On any dig, anywhere."

"Well, it's not uncommon for people to get injured, but murder, no, not usually. Not without drink or women involved."

"The usual story," replied Lewis.

Hathaway nodded in agreement.

"Are there any animals out here that could do that to a man?"

"Mm, desert cats; lions and leopards. They don't usually come to the digs, not if it's a dry site."

Ah. "There are seven springs just over the dunes, there."

"Yes and no," answered Hathaway. He leaned to one side and dug into his trouser pocket, bringing out a writing implement and a pad of…paper? Glancing at Lewis, he said, "Pencils remain legible for hundreds of years, unlike ink that fades, and paper can be made anywhere. They've stood the test of time, Inspector."

"I've no comment to make on your use of antiquities, Mr. Hathaway."

Hathaway smirked as he flattened the paper. "These marks will remain long after we are gone."

"Speak for yourself."

"Seven Springs is not for water, which is why we have not feared desert cats in our dig. The pumps you see at the surface are exactly that, pumps. Pumps for air." 

"But there was shrubbery," protested Lewis. "I could smell water in the air!"

"Yes, because those bollards provide enough of a temperature difference for moisture to collect upon. It rolls down, the plants get what they need and believe me, no more. It very rarely rains in this desert." Hathaway quickly sketched a diagram that made no sense to Lewis. He drew a rectangle, added smaller squares on the inside, double lines snaking through all the squares in a pattern that looked vaguely familiar. When Hathaway was done, he turned the sketch towards Lewis and the lines coalesced into a building with rooms inside and a network of pipes in each wall. The pipes stood free of what would be a roof, in modern parlance.

Lewis was confused. "So the bollards are chimneys?"

"Maybe," answered Hathaway. "If they are, it's a technology I don't understand. What I can tell you is that at one time this building was on solid ground, and these dunes nowhere in sight."

"Wait, wait," Lewis said, shaking his head. "How do you know there's a building below? I thought this was called Seven Springs?"

"Like you said, it's about the greenery. For all the tribesmen know, this was an old wadi, albeit a strange one, but what else could it be given the greenery you're so obsessed with? It's what makes the most sense."

"Yeah, but how do you _know_? Or are you just guessing."

"Because two years ago I found another set of bollards and dug them up. Do you have a cigarette?"

Nonplussed by the question, Lewis automatically patted his pockets for a lighter, instead. Realizing what he was doing, he stopped, silently cursed Morse and his damned pipe. "Sorry, I don't smoke. Filthy habit. You said you had found another building, one not far from - where?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Who else was with you?"

Hathaway stilled, blinked. "Suleiman. Ziad. Hassan. I'd hired them to guide me into the Solitude, because I thought I'd seen outlines of massive walls in the satellite scan from when Kemet was first colonized. No one lives anywhere near there, it's a wasteland deep in the desert. Can I have another shot of brandy?"

Lewis poured him another. Two of four people were definitely dead, the one missing was most likely so, and the fourth - they had to get offworld. When Hathaway was done with his shot, Lewis put the flask away, tossing it towards his pack. "What did you find?"

"Nothing. Nothing that I could bring back with me, anyway. And by that time I…was made aware my circumstances had changed. I wanted to make sure no one knew what I had found except for me."

Like any good copper, Lewis immediately wondered if Hathaway had anything to do with the deaths of Ziad and Hassan, then instantly dismissed the thought. Hathaway didn't have the time, though he could be considered for motive. "Why no go back there, instead of coming here to Seven Springs?"

"It's a major find, not something I can do on my own. It's the kind of dig that requires major backing, preferably from a university with lots and lots of students looking for work experience," said Hathaway. He scrubbed one hand over his face. "Yes, there was a chance any one of them could have led prospectors and Archeologists back to that site, but I promised them more than I'm worth to not do so. I trusted them and I don't believe they've let me down."

"Someone's certainly made sure they won't," answered Lewis. "And whatever you found there, because I _have_ noticed that you haven't - "

"I'd rather not at this juncture," said Hathaway apologetically. "It's nothing personal, Inspector."

Lewis shook his head. "Oh, I've been around enough academics to know you all want to hide the things I care least about. And stop calling me 'Inspector', it's a little much for the situation we find ourselves in."

They sat in silence for a little while, Hathaway looking drowsy, Lewis relaxing more and more as nothing continued to happen.

Finally Hathaway said, "There are probably other buildings around us, underneath us. For all was know there could be a city below us, all we need do is find the door."

"That's all well and good, but would anyone kill over it?"

Hathaway sat back. "You're hardly the world's best detective if that's your assumption."

Lewis shrugged. "Just fielding ideas. Despite what the public might think, there's no such thing as a motiveless crime."

"Sambuchino-Levine," said Hathaway, jerking his chin up. "'Unlawful Death, Crime, and the Social Construct'."

Lewis nodded. "The classic text. My point is that we don't know why your man was murdered, or if the other one is even alive. Maybe someone has a personal vendetta against him. One of your desert cats could have taken him. Now think, man, tell me what you saw at the scene of the crime."

Hathaway dutifully repeated back to Lewis everything Lewis had noticed, the lack of tracks in the sand, the dismemberment of the body. The death of Ziad without the unnecessary treatment after. 

"Done incredibly quickly, too," Hathaway looked at Lewis with a frown. "That can't be right. We're only a few minutes away from the dig, there's no way Hassan could have been taken apart that quickly without modern weaponry."

"Which we would have see reflected against the dunes," answered Lewis. "Too bad we can't get an autopsy done."

"It'll remain a mystery, then."

"Until the next time it happens," Lewis shifted from side to side. "Tell me why you think _this_ dig is important."

The question was obviously one of importance to Hathaway, for he folded his arms and stared levelly at Lewis. For his part, Lewis remained calm, waiting for the explanation.

"As I was saying, there might be a whole city underneath us," Hathaway paused, licked his lips. He said, "Can you keep a secret, Detective Inspector? If means my life, if you don't."

Lewis frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I've been chasing after something for most of my life. Something that would change everything."

"You said that before, that what you found here would change everything."

"Do you want to know the secret?"

Lewis twitched one shoulder. He could take it or leave it. A lie, of course, one which Hathaway seemed to recognise. Didn't stop him from telling it, though.

"I came across it as a child. Something I found in a book, which lead me to Cambridge, then into faith, and from there to here. A faint trail, the meanest thread. I'm talking about extraterrestrial life."

"Aliens," Lewis said flatly. Really? All of this and he had ended up with a nutter? 

"Look, I know it sounds ridiculous, but I actually have found the signs! The evidence from Earth is locked away safe, I can't show it to you, you'll just have to trust me on that one. Look," he repeated, grabbing the paper and sketching another drawing. "See this symbol? I found it in the highest mountains on Earth. I was a walker when I was a child, and I loved going up and own the Munro's in particular. It was there that I first found this mark, didn't think anything of it at the time, yet as I traveled through the Alps, and then the Himalayas, the Atlas, the Rockies, the Andes - I kept finding them - "

A keen walker himself, Lewis found the recitation of mountain ranges rather more on the scale of serious hiking than ambles along country lanes. Even the Munro's were nothing to sneer at, and he was well familiar with those. Looking at the symbol, a simple design of lines and dots in a pattern that was soothing even as it kept the eye moving, was…he had definitely seen it before.

" - so when I finally went offworld, the last thing I expected to find were more of them."

"And that's why you've been doing these digs everywhere? Not for the money, which must be impressive, but to find all of these…symbols."

"Yes," Hathaway nodded emphatically, his eyes gleaming in the soft light of the lamps. "They're everywhere here. Etched into those damned gates in the city walls, marking every single traveler's map. I don't know if you've noticed, but it's stamped into at least one floor tile in every building I've been to in the city. Frequently a corner tile, or set partly beneath a wall, but it's there if you know where to look."

"So what does it all mean, then? Maybe it's just a common design, like the fleur-des-lys, or the Tudor rose. And who's to say humans didn't create it - how can you tell?"

For the first time since Lewis had met the man, Hathaway looked flustered. Ah, hadn't thought it all the way through to the logical conclusion. Lewis eased up on him a little bit. "Humanity has been in space a long time. Generations have lived and died on this planet alone, there's no telling who built what, where, and how long it's been forgotten. I think you're blowing things out of proportion."

Impossibly, Hathaway slouched further down into the chair. He looked smug, and certain, and Lewis almost hated him for his gentle mockery. Of course, who knew what was happening behind those eyes.

Their evening stopped there. Lewis checked taggers and screamers and yes, despite being told different, they were all working, recording normally, safequarding quietly. If anything were to happen, it wouldn't be a complete surprise. What _was_ surprising was how quickly he nodded off.

~*~

If Lewis had thought the desert was difficult by camel, that was nothing compared to traveling in it by foot. He learned a lot about sand; the soft stuff that rolled underfoot, the solid stuff that looked like it would roll but instead stopped the foot and knee short, making him expand even more energy. The air was furnace hot, the wind was dry and wicked away the merest hint of perspiration that might dare to appear and it didn't take long for Lewis to feel like he was inhaling fire with each step. He wanted water, was desperate for water, Hathaway's little unit providing only a cup or so a day. Of course that wasn't any where near enough in this environment. At night he dreamt of waterfalls, of the ocean, of the bubble baths he used to give to the kids. Yet for all that, the beauty here was tremendous. The bright blue sky above, golden sand beneath, the white of their clothing in contrast. There was a purity to it, an austerity that was deadly in its simplicity. 

Lewis didn't think he had ever been so reliant upon himself in nature.

Hathaway made it bearable. Now that Lewis no longer had his reader to study, he studied Hathaway instead. Hathaway was oddly reticent about his personal life, and spoke freely on such a variety of subjects that Lewis began to understand the bewilderment of Hathaway's old professors. For such a learned man, Hathaway was strangely uncaring about any of it. Oh, he clearly enjoyed talking about it, especially ribbing Lewis whenever he had the chance, which was often. Lewis found he didn't mind so much. Besides, he got in his own zingers from time to time. The fact that he wasn't showing off was what got to Lewis. Hathaway loved learning for the sake of it. He clearly wanted to know everything it was possible to know. Of course, Lewis could also tell that there were long-buried reasons behind that simple fact. He didn't ask, because Hathaway would not appreciate it. And...Lewis was drawn to him. He didn't think that was down to Val and Bright, either. He hadn't thought of either one of them in days, really. 

Which was funny, considering that he still might die out here. Shouldn't he be thinking about making amends, or feeling bad about leaving the mother of his children? Trudging in between dunes, he pondered this. Hmm, no...he was no longer angry at Val. Hurt, yes, but angry? No. No point in being angry at her. Bright, on the other hand, deserved everything he was going to get. And actually, that was a good point. Why even stay in Oxford? In fact, why not transfer? He was used to London now, could apply to make his place in the Squad permanent. It might not be so bad. 

A few more steps and he shook his head. No, it wouldn't be bad, it would be terrible. He wasn't for specialist crimes, no. He liked being among the people. They were far more interesting than any work of art, and needed his help more.

"You've been awfully quiet."

Lewis broke out of his reverie to look at Hathaway, who was limned white by the sun. He could have been an angel in an Old Masters painting. "Just ruminating on what I'm going to do when I get back to Earth."

"How so?"

"Well," Lewis shrugged one shoulder. "Do I stay in London or return to Oxford?"

"Wherever your family is, isn't that how that usually goes?"

Lewis stumbled over ridge of sand unexpectedly hard. Actually, no, it wasn't sand, it was rock. He had been so busy thinking that he hadn't been paying attention to their surroundings. Looking around, he saw there were rocky outcroppings shaped by the wind and shaved into strange elliptical shapes that out of the corner of one's eye, sometimes looked like big cats, or giant humans, or sphinxes. "I wish I had an answer for that."

A few hours later, while sitting at the fire Hathaway had created from leftover camel dung, Lewis said, "What if we're not alone in the Universe?" Hathaway stopped writing and rolled his pencil between his fingertips. "What if you found out, all unsuspecting like, that there was a government conspiracy to keep the truth about aliens from the public?"

Lewis stared at the coals. They kept coming back to the topic over and over again, to the point where Lewis thought he might go mad if Hathaway didn't give it a rest.

Hathaway didn't look up when he next spoke. "Did I ever tell you how I'd seen the symbol as a child in the library of my father's employer?" 

"Not the details, no."

"I grew up on a country estate - " Hathaway glanced at Lewis as he spoke, continued with a little deprecatory bob of his head. "My father was the manager. I used to run about with the family's children, treated the house as if it were my own, especially the library. I didn't think much about it at the time. Anyway, I found it behind a shelf of philosophy books, literally shoved behind them as if someone wanted to it. The Ealdhus. It was very old, the pages made of vellum, the binding of leather. Probably should have been in a museum or under glass, but you know what people who live in old houses are like."

Lewis 'Hmmm'd' in response. 

"The Ealdhus - it means 'old house' in Old English - I read it cover to cover. More than once. I picked out all the words that looked familiar and tried to make a story out it, grabbed all the dictionaries I could find and figured out more words."

Hathaway was smiling slightly, and Lewis could just picture him as a child sitting in an alcove surrounded by open books, his blond hair bright in the sunshine cutting through the library window, the page dappled by the shadows of the ivy leaves growing on the side of the building. Lewis didn't want to break Hathaway's mood, but he also really wanted to know what happened next. Thankfully Hathaway broke out of his reverie before Lewis opened his mouth.

"The symbol was on every page, just not always in the same place. Once I realized it wasn't a letter, I thought it was artwork and began to add into all of my drawings. I would even dream about it, made my Gran cut the symbols out of wheat crust and rolled icing to put on pies and cakes, and not even for my birthday."

"Sounds like you were obsessed," said Lewis, wondering what might be the best tack to take in light of Hathaway's…idea. He couldn't call the man crazy, because he clearly wasn't, however he certainly had some extremely odd thoughts. Lewis had met plenty of unbalanced people in his time, many of whom were real criminals who did terrible things, horrible things. Hathaway was not like them. At all. He wasn't even like those so called normal people who hid their pathologies from everyone else - he actually was perfectly normal, like any bloke Lewis might meet in the pub. Reminded him a little of Morse. A lot like Morse, all brainy and such. 

"I _was_ obsessed. When I went to Cambridge I was drawn to music, but my dreams returned. I began to see the symbols everywhere, even in the Bible. I would write scales to its mathematical equivalent, compose entire works in my head. I entered Seminary in the vain hope my answers lay in the word of God, but found to my great disappointment that He was not there."

In an effort to forestall more god-talk, Lewis said, "Then you left Seminary for…"

"I didn't know. I decided a walk would do me good, so I went to Spain, to Tyre, to Petra. I discovered the symbol in the Taklamakan, in the ancient ruins of Kathmandu. I saw it in tapestries woven in Almaty, above doorways in Kashgar," he smiled grimly. "I ran away from it, but it was before me all along."

Lewis nodded. Hell of a walk. "And now you're on Khemet."

"And now I'm on Khemet. I thought leaving Earth would be my greatest escape, and yet," he spread his hands, as if to say _See? It's not all in my head!_

"I feel like I'm going to regret asking, but how about the other worlds? I know you've done a lot of traveling, dug a lot of sites," at Hathaway's confused frown, Lewis added, "You're a celebrity in certain circles. Saving unknown artifacts, saving sites known and unknown. A regular folk hero."

"Hardly. I did what I had to do to make sure I had evidence of my findings. I won't have this swept under the proverbial rug. Besides, I leave the majority of my finds at the sites."

"Sorry?"

Hathaway looked up at Lewis, lips quirked. "I leave the majority of the finds at the sites."

"But you're an Archaeologist!" protested Lewis. "Aren't you supposed to be conserving the past for the future?"

"To what end? So it all can just sit on storeroom shelves gathering dust? Why not let them moulder in peace. Besides, once an item is removed from where it was buried or put aside, I think it loses its provenance. I think it loses its soul."

"Right…" Lewis wasn't quite sure what to say, now that he had Hathaway talking. In actuality, he wasn't sure he didn't half agree with him. "So why do you think there's a conspiracy?"

"Off the record?"

Lewis instantly decided to lie a little. He would say yes, and if there came a time when it was time for the truth, then he would tell the truth. "Of course."

Hathaway eyed him with suspicion, yet ultimately continued on anyway. "What do you think would happen if the Unity discovered a non-human species that was vastly more old and powerful than itself? What if it discovered technology so advanced it appeared to be magic?"

"…Are you telling me that's what you've found?"

"Maybe."

Exasperated by Hathaway's enigmatic answers, Lewis unrolled his blanket and propped up his pack for a pillow. Once inside, he stared up at the sky, amazed as he was every night, at the stars above. Growing up, he'd thought he was familiar with a lot of stars, especially when he was camping in the Monro's, but this, this was a feast for the soul. Even the light from their meagre fire wasn't enough ti jeeo his eyes from adjusting. The stars wheeled above them. Lewis refused to ponder the meaning of life under their banner. He was already doing enough of that during the day. Still, though. Heart abruptly in his throat, he mouthed his love for his family, even for Val, and his wish to seem them all again. Foolish, but there it was. At the end of the day a man had to acknowledge what he felt. He refused to go to his grave without saying the words, his only regret knowing he wouldn't see Lyn and Mark again. Chance was a fine thing, though, and the morrow another day.

He couldn't wait to see what it would bring.

~*~

"Come on," said Lewis, taking Hathaway by the elbow and helping him sit up. Hathaway was breathing hard, clearly dazed. He had taken one hell of a tumble, so much so that Lewis had had a tough time going after him, his feet sinking deep into the sand with each step. "You all right?"

"Nothing broken, I don't think."

Lewis squatted down, looked at the hairy something quietly oozing to death only a metre away. Good Christ, this planet. Whatever it was, it had scuttled towards Hathaway with lightning quickness. Heart in his throat, Lewis had run to stomp on it, only noticing the fangs at the last second. He was grateful the thing had only had eyes - so very many eyes - for Hathaway, otherwise he suspected he would be a dead man. 

"Tripped over my own feet," said Hathaway, pointing his toes this way and that.

Nodding, Lewis looked up at what had come out of Hathaway's pack in his chaotic journey from the top to the bottom of the dune. The edible book was open, the pages blindingly white in the sunlight. The bottle with their water was a silver streak against the gold sand - ah. Upon collecting the items, Lewis made Hathaway drink half the water, then drank the rest himself. No use keeping it for later when they both needed it for the shock of what had happened.

Finally Hathaway stood, tucked everything away. To Lewis' eyes he still looked wobbly.

"Robbie, I'm fine," Hathaway said, refusing to look in Lewis' direction.

Of course he was. 

~*~

Three days later Cairo's walls came into view as they topped a dune, creamy butter yellow in the light of the setting sun. Lewis could almost hear the Muezzin singing the call to prayer, the sounds of the city dying away as folk went to the mosque, or set their prayer rugs wherever they were. Once more he wondered if the fact of being on another planet made any difference in alignment, or if everyone simple faced East, and that was good enough.

But now he felt torn. Torn between the nearness of fresh food and that goddamned mint tea which somehow, _somehow_ he had ended up wanting, a bath and a soft mattress, and continuing the horrible-wonderful journey with Hathaway. Just for a moment he almost said, _Let's go on, see what's beyond the horizon!_

He was sure Hathaway would agree.

He _knew_ Hathaway would agree.

And that would hardly be fair. Hathaway might have the resources to play gadabout, but he did not. He had a wife, and children, and a grandchild, and needs must be responsible for them. With his heart in his throat he trudged on, his spirits sinking.

Evening had fallen fully by the time they reached the gate that from which Lewis had left Cairo, what seemed like eons ago. The gate was fully lit from within, neon white-blue shapes moving within a darker neon blue arched base, the colors spilling out onto the sand. After so many days in the desert, the gate was like some kind of fantastic sculpture, alien in its beauty, a siren pulling the two of them in. Yet…hadn't it been black, the day he had left?

Beside Lewis, Hathaway suddenly stopped, unmindful of the head to toe looks they were getting from the locals leaning against the wall, smoking from long stemmed pipes, drinking from horns, laughing uproariously. He turned to look at Lewis, his eyes gleaming. "We made it."

"Aye, we did," said Lewis heavily. He didn't break eye contact and they stood in silence as time stretched, until Hathaway looked down at his feet.

"Where are you staying?"

Lewis tried to remember. "Reed Street Hotel. Or at least I was, I doubt they've kept my room.

Hathaway nodded. "Come home with me. I've got a flat on the Dock Road. Cheap enough to rent by the month."

"Are you sure? I don't want to take your time any more than I already have."

"I..." Hathaway began, and then the moment ended as a group of young boys swarmed them, hands held out for treats.

Hathaway held his hands up above his shoulders, but Lewis searched his pockets. Ah, that should do it. "Back off!" he said, and when the children had moved off a meter or so, tossed the faience coins over his shoulder towards the desert. The children scattered with whoops of glee that turned to screams of delight as he and Hathaway headed under the gate.

"You're a soft one," commented Hathaway, side-eyeing Lewis as his skin turned blue from reflected light.

Lewis shrugged to hide his embarrassment. "Kids. Doesn't matter what world they're on, I can't resist 'em."

Hathaway smiled faintly. 

Life in Cairo was so...lively. Entirely shocking after the quiet of the desert. And the smell! The stink of humanity was nearly overwhelming. Hawkers were still out selling their wares, chai wallahs still called out their prices, kebab stands were still lined up three people deep. The first thing Hathaway bought were two bottles of water. Lewis was careful to take sips, stopping every time his stomach was on the verge of rebellion. Still and all, the bottle was emptied far quicker than he wanted. He trusted Hathaway's word, that too much, too fast, would be his doom.

Having given all his money away, Lewis felt a little guilty when Hathaway paid for their dinner; four sticks of spiced fish with roasted tomato and charred onion, flat bread to wrap it in. Olive oil dripped down Lewis' chin as he ate, unable to keep his hunger at bay until they were at the flat. By the time they got to the Dock Road they were coated with dust, their throats parched even though Hathaway had bought them both more bottles of water. Not only that, but the breeze was coming in from the harbour and the smell was...not good. Underneath the odor of brine was a deeply unpleasant stench, like crude oil and skunk and ugh, it was just disgusting. Stepping out of the way of a fisherman using a wheelbarrow to transport a pile of netting somewhere else, Lewis trotted after Hathaway and asked, "How do you take the smell?"

"Cheap rent and access to the docks make it worthwhile. You'd be surprised by what the boats bring in. If I had my druthers I'd hire a crew just to go through the finds here. I've got a selection of vases and statuettes I'm sending to the Ecole Canadien for further study."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

Hathaway grinned. "You should be. Ah, here we are."

The flat was on the upmost floor of a three storey building overlooking not only the street, but part of the harbour as well. It took up the entire floor with four floor-to-ceiling windows facing the street. Lewis followed Hathaway up the stairs to the top floor of the tenement. On the landing there was a window looking out to the back, whereto his surprise he saw a courtyard filled with people and multi-colored lamps and braziers glowing with coals against the damp and chill. 

"Don't expect much," said Hathaway, opening the door. He paused to flick a wall switch, filling the area with warm and soft light.

Lewis had no expectations at all, but it seemed wiser to keep that to himself. Inside the flat they walked directly into the living room. To the left was a galley kitchenette with apparatus Lewis couldn't even begin to figure out how to use, a small open pantry behind which was a long, narrow wooden table against the wall, with four stools on three of its sides. Directly ahead were two rooms with closed doors, one of which Lewis really hoped had a toilet. Days with limited water had...gummed up the works, as it were. The other door presumably led to a bedroom, leaving the rest of the living room for his perusal. To the right were the four windows he had seen from the front of the building, a long couch with an equally long, plump cushion and several throw pillows. There was a rug on the floor with an oriental pattern in black, red, and white, just like out of a home wares catalog. The biggest surprise was the screen on the wall between two of the windows; somehow he had imagined Hathaway would eschew such modern indulgences.

Lewis drew closer to the windows, glanced at the coffee table, did a double take. "What - are those - how on earth?"

Hathaway stood next him, staring down at the coffee table. "I know, it's incredible. Someone must have made it here. The wood is from Earth, Rosewood, I think, and of course, the coins as well."

Crouching by the side of the low table, Lewis took a closer look. The top of the table was inlaid with ancient coinage. There were Euros, dimes and quarters from America, pesos from South America, roubles and dinars, francs and riyals and rupees. "Amazing," he said, moving the Laughing Buddha incense burner to one side. Oh, look, there was something in Cyrillic - a drachma, maybe? "To think that people dared the cost of weight and freight and fines in order to bring a bit of home to their new world. I can't imagine it."

"I've seen more than one piece in the same style," said Hathaway. "History going for pennies, if you'll pardon the expression."

"I bet you see a lot of that in your business."

"And how," murmured Hathaway. "Sometimes I don't know if I'm doing the right thing."

Maybe it was being back in the city, but Lewis didn't care for Hathaway's melancholic tone. He stood, went to the window. "Ah, the real reason you like it here."

Opposite him was the other side of the street, a row of what he hadn't realized were two storey tenements. Hathaway's flat was on the third storey, affording him a view of rooftops and beyond, a few lights at the harbour and a black void that could only be the sea. Hathaway joined him at the window. "My dirty little secret."

Lewis huffed a laugh, abruptly exhausted. Realizing he was still wearing his makeshift backpack, he peeled it from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor, the sudden shift in weight making him stagger forward. Hathaway, who had already removed his own backpack at the door, caught him by one shoulder.

"Bathroom's the second door on the left. Why don't you go wash up and I'll get your bed ready."

"God yes," sighed Lewis, forcing himself to move in that direction. If he sat down, all would be lost until the morning.

The bathroom was about the size Lewis had expected. It was also a wet room, which made showering very convenient. The water smelled a bit stale, but that was all right. He was clean after days of using depilatories and moist towlettes. The hot water had done wonders for the ache in his shoulders, too. After rubbing his hair dry with a towel, he slung it about his hips and contemplated what to wear. Everything he had brought was...in the living room. God, he _was_ tired if he had forgotten that minor detail. Nothing for it. And really, what use was it, being shy? Hathaway already knew his little habits by now. 

When he left the bathroom, shaking his head at his own foolishness, Lewis found that Hathaway was nowhere in sight and the bedroom door firmly closed. That was fine, it was all fine. There were blankets on the sofa, an extra cushion for his head, and a remote for the screen. All he needed was booze and hot buttered popcorn and a good drama and he would be set for the night. He put on his least dirty shirt - never would he be more grateful for the arid desert environment; his shirt, though dirty, did not stink of sweat - thought about pants, then decided the towel would be enough for the night. He sat down, powered up the screen.

_" - millions more could be saved if only - "_

_"It's like this, Tammy, all he wanted to do was take the cat and - "_

_"Mo-o-om!",_

_"-rld Service from the BBC. These stories upcoming - "_

Lewis put the remote down, settled against the back of the couch. Already he was adjusting to civilized life. Not that he didn't enjoy this time in the desert, just that it would have been so much better without the murders and the terror and the abandonment. He would make a report in the morning - no, best to do it now, before Hathaway returned. With an ear towards the bedroom door, Lewis retrieved the small PD from one pocket of his backpack, then shoved it into the back of the screen. He felt a brief buzz as the PD activated, and that was it, the squirt was gone with all of the information Lewis had taken note of during the journey. He was sure no one would be happy about the murders, but it was no longer his job to find the perpetrators, bring them to justice. After all, he hadn't even seen them, so there was nothing to report. He shrugged one shoulder at himself. Time was he had been a true and diligent officer of the law, and now that he'd seen more things...he was willing to let some things slide. Like his personal feelings.

There were sounds behind him and then Hathaway, dressed in a yellow tee shirt and Royal Stewart pyjama bottoms, smelling of sandalwood soap, plopped down on the sofa. He was carrying two sweating bottles of beer, one of which he offered to Lewis. "Slainte."

"Slainte," Lewis replied, raising his bottle slightly. "To our continued survival."

"Indeed."

"Y'know, this beer is probably a terrible idea."

"You're right. I've more if we want it."

They sat and watched the rest of the news report, then Hathaway picked up the remote. Traditional Western music filled the air with cellos and violins and flutes, much to Lewis' surprise.

Hathaway smirked, then his face fell. "You're really going to make me return to Earth, aren't you."

"It's my job."

Hathaway took a few long pulls on his bottle, finishing it before Lewis had a chance to even do more than take a sip of his own. When he was done, he said, "I'm off to bed. G'night."

Lewis nodded, watched him get up and go to his room. Something had just happened there. Something beyond merely being upset that Lewis was fulfilling his orders. No, he had the sense that he had somehow disappointed Hathaway. But how? Shaking his head, he lay down, covered himself with all the blankets. Though the flat was warm, warmer than it should have been given how long it hadn't had a resident, he realized he had gotten cold. His very bones were tired and he didn't want to move. He closed his eyes, wished he had turned off the bloody lights - dammit, he was going to have to get up. With an angry sigh at himself - because what the hell was wrong with Hathaway, that the man wouldn't talk to him? Especially after all they had been through? - he rose and flicked the wall switch, plunging the room dark. Pausing to let his eyes adjust, he made his way back to the couch from the residual light coming from the street. He detoured to the windows, looked down. In the brief time they had been in the flat, traffic had greatly lessened, only a few men with horse and cart, or boys with massive backpacks, the tops draped with cloth to hide whatever was underneath. There were a couple of distant lights in the harbour now, gently moving up and down. Must be buoys. Returning to the sofa, he lay down and tucked the blankets around himself, then closed both eyes again. He was going to sleep, and sleep well, dammit.

The problem with trying to sleep was that one always thought about sleeping instead of actually just falling asleep. Lewis could not get the past few days out of his mind. He was ashamed to admit to himself that it was not the murders that concerned him, either. No, it was the lanky bloke in the next room that weighed upon his mind. He wished he had his reader with him, so he could contrast and compare the real Hathaway to the bits and pieces he had seen and read about. There was a mystery at the heart of Hathaway, an enigma Lewis couldn't figure out, and as he finally accepted that sleep was going to elude him for the rest of the night, he also accepted that he might possibly have fallen a little in love with him. 

Sighing heavily, he sat up, keeping the blankets well wrapped around his shoulders and thighs, and turned the screen on again, leaving the volume barely audible. He came upon some nature program from one of the Rim worlds, god only knew which one, but there were very cute, very hairless quintopeds that were so ugly they verged on actually being adorable. Having said that, he decided no creature should have that amount of skin showing, no matter how hot and rainy a forest might be. The program ended and the next one began, this time featuring a deep ocean with some truly frightening fish.

"Jesus Christ."

The declaration over Lewis' shoulder was soft, yet still made him jump. He glanced over this shoulder at Hathaway, who looked like hell, dark circles under his eyes, hair going every which way, a shadow a stubble. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

Hathaway shook his head. "You didn't. I couldn't sleep. I..."

"Yeah," Lewis agreed. He motioned towards the screen. "There's scintillating nature if you'd care to join me."

Hathaway hmm'd, disappeared back into his bedroom. A moment later he reappeared with an armful of blanket and cushion and settled himself next to Lewis.

That suited Lewis fine. 

"This might sound ridiculous," said Hathaway, fluffing his cushion. "But it felt weird sleeping by myself."

Lewis nodded. "Yeah, strange bedfellows and all that."

"Indeed."

Lewis was asleep within minutes.

~*~

In the morning they breakfasted on the ubiquitous fuul, hard boiled eggs, and sliced tomatoes doused in olive oil and dusted with salt. They each had a cup of very strong coffee and after, made their way to the Bean Exchange. The office was halfway down a dark and cool hall with red marble floors and framed textiles on the walls. MacDonald's secretary was nowhere in sight, so Lewis felt free to open the door to MacDonald's inner sanctum without so much as a knock.

MacDonald stood up from his desk so quickly he knocked his chair over. "Lewis! Christ, where the _hell_ have you been? HQ has been calling me non-stop! Thank god you're here to take their foot off my neck. Goddamned bastards don't know what it's like on a world like this."

Lewis took the proffered hand, shook it firmly. Inclining his head towards his companion, he said, "This is James Hathaway. We ran into some trouble at Seven Springs - "

"Yes, I know," said MacDonald, nodding vigorously. He righted his chair, sat back down. "The whole city's been talking about the massacre."

"Massacre?" Lewis paused halfway to seating himself.

"Yes," MacDonald opened a drawer in his desk, brought out a bottle of whisky and three glasses. "Don't tell anyone I've got this here or it's my head."

"The massacre?" prompted Lewis, crossing his legs.

"Outriders from the Mombasa rode into the city some days ago with wild tales of lights in the desert and screaming across the dunes. Though they were terrified, they didn't wait until morning to see what was happening, instead riding over - at the great risk of losing their horses, I might add - only to find bodies strewn across a gully. We're talking human, camel, even desert rats. They'd never seen anything like it. They brought the bodies to Wadi Halim rather than here, as there's that new doctor, what's his name, he was in your caravan, wasn't he?"

MacDonald paused to take a breath and pour and Lewis leapt into the gap. "And you thought it was me?"

"Oh yes," MacDonald nudged the glasses over to him and Hathaway. "They said there was a foreigner amongst them, a stranger they had never seen before. Pale skinned, like us."

"There are plenty of white people in Cairo," commented Lewis, wondering just what the hell MacDonald was trying to say. "Part of the Western Muslim Diaspora. Y'can't assume all of them are foreigners."

"Nonetheless, that's what they said he was."

Lewis didn't believe it for a second.

Hathaway took too big a sip of whisky and coughed half of it back up, face turning bright red in the process. He grimaced, looked at what he had left in his glass. "This can't be from Earth."

"Nope, local brew, but don't tell anyone or it'll be my head."

"Great," rasped Hathaway, blinking away tears.

"But no one ever checked to see if I was still alive?" asked Lewis, realizing the idiocy of his question as soon as he said it. He held up one hand. "No, nope, never mind. I always forget there's no electronics out at Seven Springs."

MacDonald frowned. "What are you talking about? We tracked you just fine."

Lewis narrowed his gaze at MacDonald, but before he had a chance to say anything, Hathaway broke in.

"They really don't," he said, leaning forward to place his glass of whisky on the corner of the desk. "That's what you tell yourself, and maybe that's even what you believe, but the truth is that they don't work out there, nor have they worked on any sites I've dug on this world. In fact they rarely work off of Earth, no matter what the public at large believes. Why do you think you almost never see footage?"

"I've seen your interviews, Hathaway, you holding up some chipped cup or bag of bones," answered MacDonald.

"Not in the field you haven't," said Hathaway confidently. "Being hijacked by the press on the way through a starport is very different from having one's picture taken when you're thigh deep in mud, leeches in your boots and bloody from bug bites."

Take that in your straw hat and suck it, thought Lewis bitterly. "So maybe the question really is, who says that's the actual feed>?"

MacDonald looked taken aback at that. "I...simply assumed it was."

"And you a spy-master," commented Hathaway drolly, his face bearing no signs of humour.

"Now you listen here, you little shit," snarled MacDonald, half-rising. "I've had enough of your requests, your shenanigans amongst the locals; what, you don't think they don't tell me? You're not one of them, Hathaway, and you never will be no matter how much you try and dress like a native. You can go swanning about in ruins no one's ever given a damn fool thought of, asking your questions and pandering to the highest bidder, but the god's honest truth is that no one cares. You're just the typical spoiled white boy with money in his name and the will to spend it on nonsense."

"Sit down!" thundered Lewis. He was still tired, he was still hungry, and he just wanted to get back to London. He pursed his lips. Technically MacDonald was his superior; he had no right to call him out on anything regarding a junior colleague. ...And they were getting offworld anyway. He would apologize to Hathaway later."You have my report on the matter and I've already sent it back to HQ. Now tell me the details of what the Mombasa found."

MacDonald glared at Hathaway, then at Lewis, pointing at Hathaway in the meantime. "You know what he's done? Disturbed my _bloody_ peace of mind with his questions and requests and demands that I ship this back for him a-s-a-p. Bloody nuisance, should've let you rot out there with the others."

Others? What others? Lewis realized he was clenching his fists and made himself relax his hands. 'Others'. Well that was one hell of a clue, wasn't it? Nice of MacDonald to give him some sort of goddamned warning. Could it be that Hathaway had always been in danger, and Lewis was expendable enough to have been sent out here as some sort of favor to Bright? _Had this all been a ruse to get him out the way?_ Had he fallen for it because he believed in doing his job to the best of his ability? Had his mostly unquestioning obedience - no, no. Morse would never have taken him on if he'd been obedient. He'd simply had no reason to suspect anything other than being sent on to another job, one that just happened to be offworld. Even with that reasoning he felt a fool.

"Now, as to your question, when they returned in the morning the Mombasa found nothing but dismembered bodies. Heads were missing. There was no sign of a struggle, it appears the group was savaged by some unknown entity. They're not saying what it was due to some superstition or another. Ridiculous, if you ask me."

"Have you ever even been out there?" asked Hathaway. His voice was calm, yet Lewis could feel the restraint with which he asked his question. "Do you know what it's like to see those lights in the middle of nowhere, watching them dance above the dunes? Have you ever even left the city?"

"Hathaway, that's enough," Lewis interrupted with a sharp chop of his hand. He looked at MacDonald. "How soon can you arrange transport upwell?"

After a short pause, MacDonald, his upper lip twitching in a grotesque parody of a wild animal about to attack, said, "Ferry leaves this afternoon for Port Kemet. Tickets will be waiting for you dockside, the same for your flight. You'll have to wait for the regularly scheduled shuttle. Once you're on the Nile it'll be up to you to get back to Earth."

"Thanks," Lewis said sourly, getting to his feet and leaving the finger of whisky in his glass untouched. "Hathaway, come on."

Striding through the streets until he was well away from that massive prick, Lewis was steaming. That bastard, that utter _bastard!_ So much for an 'easy two week journey' to Seven Springs and back, as he had originally told Lewis. Well. Didn't matter now. He would never have to deal with the man again, although he certainly intended on adding to his report. No one should have to face thinking of MacDonald as a backup in any capacity whatsoever. Yes, Lewis was a Unityman, he had a certain level of training, they all did. That did _not_ mean, however, that he had any kind of specialized training in going offworld. Unlike MacDonald, he was neither spy or handler (and just what the hell was MacDonald doing on a backwater like Khemet, anyway?), all he had was common sense, just like any other ordinary person.

"Sir!"

It pissed him right off, for he'd never trusted MacDonald from the start, and he'd ignored his gut because he was offworld for the first time in his life. And that was a hell of a thing in and of itself. Sure, he had read all the books and watched lectures, but that didn't prepare a person for what offworlders presumably considered normal; which was, well, everything. He'd memorized drill after drill, though, for keeping oneself whole in case of emergency. He knew how to put on a suit and mask, how to lock an escape pod, how to regulate oxygen, how to use patches if - 

"Sir! Inspector Lewis! Robbie!"

The use of his name brought Lewis up short. Blinking, he turned towards Hathaway, who was visibly perspiring. Lewis patted him on the shoulder. "Sorry, sorry. That whole conversation was just..."

"Bull."

Lewis nodded. There was a low bellowing behind him and he quickly stepped to one side as a horned cow leading a cart filled with dung trundled up the road, the driver shooting him a dirty look as they passed. "Bull, indeed."

Hathaway flashed him a bright grin. "Well, I propose we let him pay for the ferry tickets, then I'll pay for our tickets home."

"I can't let you do that," said Lewis, shaking his head.

"Of course you can. Unity can reimburse me the cost."

Lewis frowned. He would definitely be home faster, but wasn't there some sort of conflict of interest? Or something to that effect? He couldn't quite work it out.

"Let me buy you breakfast while you think about it."

"Done."

After their second breakfast, a shared plate of shakshouka at a little haunt Hathaway knew of, Lewis spent the rest of the morning in Hathaway's increasingly pleasant company. he was taken on a tour of the city, Hathaway-style, which included many intriguing buildings that had not been built by Human hands. Once they were pointed out to Lewis he found the symbols everywhere, and he began to understand a bit more of Hathaway's obsession. 

Eventually they returned to Hathaway's flat, where they packed everything up. While turning in his key, Hathaway arranged for the coffee table to be loaded on to the ferry. From there they went to the docks and lingered until the ferry began to board. Lewis was once again nervous about doing so, as all the decks were jam-packed with people.

"This way," called Hathaway as he headed up one of the gangplanks, his blond head easy to follow amongst the crowd.

They wound up on the top deck, on the balcony to catch what breeze was available. It was a glass calm day on the sea, and hot, and Lewis was torn between being terrified of a rollover from the wallowing boat, and ecstatic at seeing Cairo disappear into the distance. 

Hathaway leaned on the railing and stared out over the ocean. "So," he said, not quite looking at Lewis. "What do you think of it all?"

Lewis mirrored his position and enjoyed a waft of cool air in the process. "I think...I think I don't what to think. Whatever happened out there, we survived it," he hesitated, wondered how honest he was going to be, then continued on. "I can't explain it, and as a law man that bothers me a great deal. I'd like to think that if I stayed here I would solve it, bring the criminals to justice."

Hathaway gazed at him then. "You know that was never going to happen."

"Staying here? Yeah, Englishmen aren't made for this kind of heat."

Hathaway lowered his voice. "No, I meant solving the murders."

"You don't know that."

"I do, and so do you."

He felt the bone deep truth of what Hathaway had said and had no comeback. And...he was surprised to feel himself all right with that. He glanced over his shoulder to see how close any of the natives were, then ducked his head closer to Hathaway's. "Did you feel anything odd when you walked through the gate? I mean, y'know...right?"

"Every time," said Hathaway softly. "Almost as if it's watching you, judging you, finding you wanting. There's one more thing that I haven't mentioned."

"Yeah?"

His voice dropped to a whisper. "The first building I found, in the Solitude, was a gate. More to the point, the symbol, _my_ symbol, was on it. More than once. Like the gates in Cairo, and believe me, I've checked all of them, it was black at first, then began to color to blue. The shapes within were pale blue or white, and I, to be honest, it was damned creepy."

Looking into Hathaway's eyes, Lewis nodded, relieved to hear that someone else had experienced the same thing. His eyes were an odd color, one second hazel, the next a watery blue with hints of green…Lewis tore his gaze away, took a step back from the railing. "Better in the shade."

Hathaway looked at him a moment longer, then turned toward the sea again. "If you say so."

_Jesus._

Lewis wasn't prone to flights of fancy, but he was pretty sure one or the other or perhaps both of them had just come on to one another. For all his lusting, and yes, he was honest enough with himself to admit it, for all his lusting after Hathaway, the person who had been first an escape from it all, to being the point of it all, he would never have guessed there was the possibility of anything could come of it.

So to speak.

Well. Well. He nodded to himself. They had time. It had taken him a month just to get to Khemet from Earth, might be that long or longer back, depending on what Hathaway had hired to get them home. Who knew what might happen.

~*~

It only took two days to reach the port, two days for Lewis to keep praying the sea keep calm and that no one on the boat rushed from one side to the other. Hathaway laughed at his paranoia, but Hathaway had been off Earth when _Prince of Tides_ went down, when _Ocean Dancer_ struck that reef, when _Nautilus Song_ had that fire, and all of it within the space of a few months. The constant press of people into his personal space was also a bit much to take. Hathaway was the only person he could bear to be near, and Hathaway didn't seem to mind, so Lewis crowded him. A lot.

When they eventually arrived, Lewis found that Port Khemet was bright and clean and indicative of the kind of image Unity liked to promote on Earth. All shiny and white and such. The reality was always going to be different, but for Lewis, sitting on a padded bench in the shade just off of the atrium that made up the main concourse of the flight facility, it was totally unreal. Pretty, but unreal. He had appreciated it greatly upon arrival, and now he wasn't sure why he was so dissatisfied with it. Maybe he was just utterly disillusioned after his time in the desert. Even the people seemed unreal, actors in a drama or worse yet, from a training film for some corporation. Their neck to ankle robes were spotless in cloud white and French Blue and sage green. Looking down at himself, he saw just how utterly out of place he was, in his grubby linen trousers and stout leather boots, worn jacket and shirt that he now realized was missing a button, his well worn pack at his feet. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" 

Lewis took the bottle Hathaway held out to him, uncapped it and took a sip. Swallowing, he looked at the label, shook his head. "Ice tea, the only decent thing Americans have ever done with tea."

Hathaway plopped down next to him and leaned against the column behind their bench. "They're not _that_ bad. They make a mean apple pie."

"True enough."

"You're still broody."

Lewis twitched a shoulder. "I'm just out of sorts, probably lack of sleep."

There was no answer from Hathaway, which was just as well in Lewis' opinion. He could do without barbed comments at his expense.

"You wish you could have solved the murders."

"Of course I do, man! That's my job, not this - " Lewis flailed one hand in the air. "This! All of this!"

"Collecting little adventurers who stay out past their bedtimes."

"Ach, it's nothing personal, lad. I wasn't made for cataloging musty doilies."

"Hmm, no. Definitely not. But that's not why I agreed to come with you," said Hathaway. He took a long pull from his own bottle.

"Yeah, why did you? You're the type who does what he wants, when he wants."

Hathaway chuckled, shook his head. "I think you're the first person who's ever said anything remotely like that to me. If you must know, I agreed to come with you because you weren't like the others. Oh ho, MacDonald didn't tell you? Of course MacDonald didn't tell you. He's such a _wanker!"_

Lewis prodded Hathaway with his elbow. "Go on, then."

Hathaway looked away from Lewis as he began to talk. "Cairo may be the biggest city on Khemet, but for all that the off world population is quite small. I've heard of each and every arrival, goes through the town like a fire through brush. There's a small but thriving tourist industry who believes off worlders have pockets filled with cash, as you yourself so ably proved with those children."

"Oi!" 

"You're the first one from Earth, though. I wanted to know who thought I was of such importance, to send someone all the way from Earth. And then when you said it was my punishment, going home. Figured I had to, no matter what."

"Punishment?" Lewis thought back to what he had said to Hathaway the night they had met. "Y'mean Lord Kantor's message?"

Hathaway nodded. " _Supplicium._ "

Lewis frowned. "Punishment."

"When I left Earth it was not under the best of circumstances. This is my opportunity to atone for my sins, I suppose."

"Are they that bad?"

Hathaway stared at the label he was peeling off of the bottle, then looked at Lewis. His eyes were wide, his slight smile was sad and gentle and Lewis' gut went all queer. "I like that you think the best of me. Maybe someday I'll tell you. In the meantime, that's us for boarding."

Lewis had been ignoring the unintellible drone over the Tannoy, figuring it was Hathaway's job since he had arranged their flight. Anyway, it was a convenient excuse to not meet his eyes again for a little while, as well as giving Lewis time to think about Hathaway had said. He had gathered that Hathaway had had an unconventional childhood. Obviously he was a moody man, but to suggest that Lewis thought the best of him was…odd. He had no doubt Hathaway was unique in the cosmos, yet he couldn't figure out why Hathaway thought of himself as problematic. Hadn't he saved Lewis' life in the desert? Shared his home? Shared his private thoughts? How could Lewis think anything else?

They did not share the same row of seats on the short flight from the port to the Nile, and, unfortunately, they were not sharing a cabin aboard _Liquid Dreaming_. All of those had been taken long before the ship's arrival at the Nile. Instead they had reclining seats and the full run of what facilities existed for entertainment, which consisted of a gaming room, readers of various sizes, meals whenever they chose, and of course whatever exercise they could take around the cargo bay. Hathaway said they were lucky, because if the ship had been any bigger, the cargo bay would have been in hard vacuum and off limits to passengers. 

So they spent their time on the passenger deck, talking of everything and nothing. Time seemed endless, broken only by the occasional stop at some backwater planet, collecting this and that, the occasional passenger disembarking. At last there were no more worlds to visit, no stations for refueling or resupply, just a straight shot to Earth.

It was late at night, Standard, and Lewis was fighting off sleep while he read MyongOk Choi's popular novel, _Frontier Prospector: Jemima's Story_ when Hathaway slipped into the seat next to him. Lewis looked over, smiled. "Hello. Mind you don't stay too long, my seat mate's a stickler for propriety."

"Propriety? Y'mean she thinks she owns you, right?" asked Hathaway, shuffling through Lewis' bag of snacks. "Have you got any more of those salty nuts?"

Lewis stared at Hathaway, who met his look with uplifted eyebrows and that was it, they were both falling against one another, each trying to stifle a fit of giggles. Lewis finally leaned back, wiping his eyes and trying to catch his breath. "Oh my god."

Hathaway reached over Lewis' lap for the unopened bottle of water in the wall sconce, and before he thought about it, Lewis leaned up a little and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. Wide-eyed, Lewis marveled at his own unexpected daring. Then he really hoped he wasn't about to be on the receiving end of a knuckle sandwich. But Hathaway had frozen, unblinking, hand on the water bottle.

"Excuse me, that's my seat!"

At that, Hathaway looked Lewis directly in the eye, his steady gaze a hot promise. "Later," he said, leaving the water behind as he retreated back into the corridor. 

Lewis' seat mate, an older woman who glared at Hathaway as he stalked away, patted Lewis' thigh when she sat down. "No need for apologies, I know what he was trying to do. Upgrading his seat at this stage of the journey, ridiculous! I should rep-"

Stunned by his own audacity, and the fact that what he felt appeared to be reciprocated, Lewis activated the sleep screen between the seats, cutting her off mid-tirade. She was still squawking at him through the screen, so he turned it opaque and lapsed into blessed silence. He wasn't going to do what he really wanted to do; get off. That kind of thing probably happened all the time in these seats, and he was determined not to become another statistic. Besides, who knew what kind of recording devices were aboard this ship - he'd hate to see himself some years down the road, wanking in public. Instead, he took a very deep breath and slowly released it, moved his hands from his waist and took a drink of water. Okay. Okay. He had broken the proverbial ice, both he and Hathaway knew where he stood. God, he wanted nothing more than to explore that lean body, see what made Hathaway tick. He was going to take Hathaway apart - Lewis shifted in his seat. Yeah, distraction, he need it right _fucking_ now otherwise he was going to have to make an embarrassing trip to the toilets.

Right.

He had to find the least sexy thing with which to entertain himself. That meant no reading, which left the news and…the news. If he'd been at home he would have drowned himself in old reports and cold cases, options which meant nothing at the moment. Ah, no, there was one thing.

Lewis closed the reader, then removed from his jacket pocket the pen and pad of paper he had taken to carrying since they had left MacDonald's office. A gift, actually, from Hathaway as they were packing his flat. Without thinking about it too much, he began to write.

_Dear Val -_

 

~*~  
Fin.  
~*~

**Author's Note:**

> The book ['Finder's Keepers: A Tale of Archeological Plunder and Obsession'](http://www.amazon.com/Finders-Keepers-Archaeological-Plunder-Obsession/dp/031606646X/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1436497253&sr=1-4) by Craig Childs greatly inspired Hathaway's thoughts on Archeology. I highly recommend it.


End file.
